LI E) R.AFLY OF THE UNIVERSITY or ILLINOIS 8^3 V.3 GLENCAIRN. VOL. III. CtLENCAIRN. BY IZA DUFFUS HARDY, AUTHOR OF NOT EASILY JEALOUS, " BETWEEN TWO FIEES, &c. &c. " little did my mither ken, The day she cradled me, The lands I was to travel in — Or the death I was to dee! " Old Ballad. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. m. LONDON: HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 1877. All rights reserved. LONDON : PRINTED BY DUNCAN MACDONALD, BLENHEIM HOUSE, BLENHEIM STREET, OXFORD STREET. 82:3 BOOK VI. ON THE ROCKS (COXTDfUED.) VOL. III. g GLENCAIRN. CHAPTER XXV. " He, the more fortunate — ^yea ! he hath finished ! For him there is no longer any future ; Far off is he, beyond desire and fear ; No more submitted to the chance and change Of the unsteady planets ! O 'tis well With him ! — ^but who knows what the coming hour Veiled in thick darkness, brings for us f Coleridge. fT^HE morning sun was streaming on the Villa Serboni, its golden rays striking in discordant brilliance between the closely drawn curtains, and dancing in dazzling motes on the floor as gaily as though no tragedy had been enacted between its setting and its rising. B 2 4 GLENCAIRN. All the houseliold was in a state of sup- pressed and awe-stricken excitement; every- where the house was pervaded by hushed voices, agitated whispers, hurried foot- steps. In one room only there was silence now; and those who passed its door trod softly, and spoke with lowered murmurs, as if they feared to disturb the dead. They had laid him there, in the room opening off the hall where he had awoke on so many mornings to see the sun pour in, rousing him from sleep with its flood of light — the same sunlight that stole its way in through the closed blinds now, and touched, as if in a cruel mockery, with one bright ray the stained and matted locks of hair it used to gild so gaily. Around him as he lay, there had been weeping and wailing, outcries of horror and GLEN CAIRN. O sobs of despair. But " nothing can touch him further." He is safe behind the eternal barrier now, the barrier against which mortal yearnings, prayers, and long- ings dash themselves in vain. There is no more of temptation and resistance for him, no more perplexity, no more conflict be- tween the opposing forces of passion and faith. The tangled knot in which he had become involved, and which had seemed so hard to unravel, which passing days had only seemed to twist the tighter, was cut through at a blow. Down upon the passionate heart, down upon the disturbed spirit, the peace of Death had fallen, and they were stilled for evermore. One day before a woman's tear, a woman's smile, would have been as " The powerful moon to his blood's sea, To make it ebb and flow." 6 GLENCAIRN. No human voice, no mortal tears or cries, would stir the frozen silence now. His body had been found that morning by strangers, lying in an unfrequented path that his friends remembered to be one of his favourite walks. He had been shot twice, in the side and in the breast, and had been dead some hours when the first passers-by along that solitary path discov- ered him. At a few paces from him lay a revolver of which both barrels were dis- charged ; but whether it was a case of suicide or murder there was nothing as yet to prove. In Luli's room,'her father and friends were anxiously watching her. They had had cause to fear for her life or her reason since they had dragged her by main force from her lover's side, and carried her in- GLENCAIEN. 7 sensible upstairs. Now however slie ap- peared to be recovering herself a little ; and the doctor, who had speedily arrived, and who, unable to do anything for the dead, had turned to the assistance of the living, said that with care she might do very well. Glencairn, who had been bend- ing over her in stern and silent agony that none dared intrude upon by idle words of comfort, now seeing her somewhat restor- ed, rose up in his usual calm and practical composure. He looked round the room steadily, as if taking note of its inmates ; Kate and Mrs. Craven attendant at the bedside; Mr. Craven peeping in at the open door to inquire, ^' How is she now ?" '^ Where is your friend Zora ?" Glencairn said suddenly to Kate. " I don't know. She is dreadfully upset. 8 GLENOAIRN. I went to her room just now, and slie isn't there." "Tm going downstairs," said Glencairn. " 111 send her up to you. She seems an hysterical, excitable sort of girl ; I want to tell her to be careful — and if she is going to break down, not to break downA^r^," he added, glancing towards Luli as he spoke aside to Kate. Kate quite understood Glencairn's natu- ral anxiety, and said she was certain Zora would carefully obey any hint that he might give her. Zora was down at the bottom of the garden, cowering, trembling, hidden in the most secluded corner she could find. She felt an overpowering longing to fly and hide herself — anywhere, anywhere, even in the grave. In her despair she wished that GLEN CAIRN. 9^ she were dead with the lover she had doubly lost — dead and safe, away from Glencairn, as far away as death from life. She recol- lected but little of those dreadful moments when the men had borne their silent, heavy burden through the hall ; but she knew it was Glencairn's voice that had hissed a whisper, cold and deadly as poison, into her ear, " I advise you not to betray your- self." Then she thought she must have fainted, for everything had whirled and danced around her, and for many following moments all the world was a blank to her. In such a despair as Zora's, there is no clear consciousness. It is all a chaos of black and fearful shapeless shadows. When we begin to see clearly, when things take shape, and we can distinguish and define the various complications of our suffering,. 10 GLENCAIRN. clearly coloured and outlined, the day of •comfort lias dawned. Zora was lost in the first darkness of a great despair, made blacker by self-reproach. She could not think ; she could not reason ; she only felt as if she had fallen into a great black pit full of horrors, where no ray of light could ever penetrate, no hand could be reached to help her, evermore. She felt as if she must be going mad ; the only anchor that seemed to hold her to sanity was a vague doubt as to the reality of this horror — a wonder whether she would not wake as from some frightful nightmare ? She crouched there helpless, hopeless, till, looking up at the sound of footsteps, she saw Glencairn turning the corner of the path. GLENCAIRJT. 11 The sight of the fiend incarnate would probably scarcely have startled and terri- fied her more. At once at sight of him • the shock of reality stabbed her home. Alone, she might wonder if it were all a nightmare. His presence forced the pang of the truth to thrill through her every nerve. She first sprang up to her feet wildly, as if to fly, and then stood trem- bling, gazing at him with a hatred and horror that struggled with, but were still subordinate to, her fear of him. He looked on the fragile, quivering figure, the white, terror-struck face, stead- fastly, without pity. '* Do you feel calmer now?" he asked. The words were not unkind ; but his voice to her shrinking ears seemed like the mocking hiss of a serpent ; and as she met 12 GLENCAIRN. his piercing gaze bent on her, she felt as if it were the " evil eye " that blighted where it fell. "What have you come for — why?" she gasped, almost too agitated to be conscious what she said. " I should not have come to you without a reason." "Do you want to kill me too ?" she said, with partly terror and partly the de- fiance of desperation. " Far from it. I have merely come to advise you to forget one conversation that you and I once had." " Forget it ? I cannot ! How could I ever forget it ?" she exclaimed, struggling to be brave and despising herself for her conscious failure. "And — and — others — shall know it too," she gasped with an GLENCAIBN. 13 effort. '^They shall all know—" She could say no more. *' Shall all know — what ?" he asked, and the dark dangerous fire of his eyes para- lysed her. She stood fascinated — helpless. In all the tumult of his mind he felt some curiosity to see how far the feeble courage of this timid creature would go. "Would she dare to accuse him of murder to his face? " Shall all know — wUatT^ he repeated. Zora lost what little presence of mind and courage she had retained. She shrank away from him, and with a sudden access of terror, like a wild creature struggling from the hunter's hands, she sprang past him and tried to fly from him. He caught her by the wrist. She did not scream, for her voice failed her, and the cry of terror 14 GLENCAIRN. died in her throat; but her whole frame drooped and quivered, her limbs seemed to turn powerless and give way beneath her, and she looked up at him with eyes like those of a hunted deer as it falls prostrate in the power of the yelling pack. "What does this folly mean?" he said. " You have no need to fear. I'll not hurt you. But I will not be trifled with. You shall speak plain instead of evading me. What shall they all know ?" She feared him, but instinctively she put some faith in his word that she was safe, and she was compelled by his stronger will to speak. " It — it was you — who killed him !" she gasped, half in grief and reproach, half in hatred and horror. The words once utter- ed, a thrill of the anguish of love stabbed GLENCAIEN. IrS- her heart deeper than her selfish fear. " Oh ! you have killed him !" she cried, despairingly, reckless for the moment of his influence. " Stop !" he said, and a sort of repressed shudder ran through his frame, and his breath for one moment failed him. But in a second's struggle he seemed to seize- again upon his power of self-control, and grasp it as a man, round whom tumultuous- waters surge, clutches the rock that rears itself above the assailing waves. So Glen- cairn, in the tempest of his spirit, held fast to his only safety, firm even now in his stormed but unshaken strength. *'Donot speak those words again," he said. " Once is enough. What cause have you to dare to couple my name with this deed ? AYhy do you tremble so ?"" 16 GLENOAIRN. (For ter brief impulse of courage was past.) *^ I liave told you tliat you are safe from me. Sit down — listen. You think that he has not died by his own hand ? You think that it was T who did it ? What evidence have you in favour of your fancy ? Reflect well. What possible proof have you to back up your own baseless suspicions ?" He spoke quite calmly now ; but even his wonderful self-possession was not proof -against some slight betrayal of anxiety; and in his deep deliberate tones there was a forced quality that bore witness how rigid was the constraint his iron will held over the heart and nerves, that under a less stern power must have given way. "Proof? evidence?" repeated Zora, startled by this new idea, and growing •calmer as the tremor of her purely nervous GLENOAIRN. 17 personal fear abated. " Your own words — ^your own threats — my knowledge." " Knowledge you have none; and neither your assertion of your own belief, nor your unsupported and highly improbable state- ment that I uttered a certain threat to you, will be of any value as evidence. How could you prove, even if you could persuade them that I, in a moment of irritation, did utter some imprudent words, anything else against me ? Furthermore, your repetition of our conversation will ruin you. How do you think the world will judge of your stolen meetings at midnight ?" he said, slowly. Zora shrank away with a piteous, sob- bing cry, and buried her face in her hands. "Consider well," Glencairn continued, "what your position as sole and unsup- VOL. III. C 18 GLENCAIRN. ported witness against me will be. Consider the effect of the exposure upon your life and prospects ; and the fact that your evidence alone is so weak as to be all but worthless." " When I — have told my story — it would be for them to seek and find further evi- dence," she said, with her face still hidden in her hands ; but her voice betrayed her irresolution and her wavering ; and Glen- cairn knew that he had not much to fear from her courage or her determination, whatever he might have to fear from her weakness or her impulse. *' You will not tell your story," he said. ** I have not much reason to trust your promises ; but you shall take an oath, more solemn than any you have taken yet in your life, to obey me in this matter. And this oath you shall keep. You would be GLENCAIRN. 19 mad to assert your belief and tell your story. It would be ruin to you, and pro- bably no harm to me. You have no proof against me. I have no cause to fear. Why, then — ^you want to know — whi/ do I exact this silence from you ? For this reason — " He paused, and Zora looked up. Had she been strong, she might have seen her advantage here ; for, steadily as he spoke, it was the one vulnerable point in his armour of proof from before which he now lowered the shield ; and it was not the safest and easiest, but the most daring and desperate game that he was playing. " If you should say — what you can say — you will as surely commit a murder as whoever killed him — if slain by other hands than his own he is," he added, cautiously. " The coupling of my name — with this c 2 20 GLENCAIEN. deed," he continued, in deeper tones, and his breath coming with hoarser effort — " will be Luli's death. It will kill her, or drive her mad ! Dare you take this respon- sibility on your soul ? If you dare, and if harm comes to her — on your head be it ! You will be her murderess if you speak. I warn you — take her death upon your soul, if you dare do it ! " Zora knew that she was dealing with a desperate man ; she saw it in his eyes and in the tremor of his hands. She dared not defy him ; and even had she collected the courage to denounce him^ she dared not face the thought his last words had brought before her. She dared not deal what would probably be a death-blow to the girl she had already wronged. • The conflict ended — if conflict it could GLENCAIBN. 21 be called, where one was so strong and the other so weak — where one was desperate, and the other cowardly — in Zora's taking the solemn oath of silence Glencairn exacted from her, in terms too earnest and terrible to be lightly broken by one who was only too timid to be true. ^' One parting word," said Glencairn, as he turned to leave her. He laid his hand on her shoulder, lightly, as if merely to compel her attention, and spoke, not threateningly, nor passionately, but with an enforced and deliberate calm that was more terrible than any vehemence. "If you should break this oath, there is no power that shall shield you from me. No bolts nor bars, no distance of land and sea, shall keep you safe from me. Not even my death shall save you. From the hottest 22 GLENCAIEN. depths of hell I'll rise to drag you down." He was as pale as slie; the hand he rested upon her shoulder shook ; and it seemed to her that, in the baleful glow of his dark, deep-set eyes the fires of hell were already reflected. She shrank, but could not speak. She gazed at him mutely^ with the fascination of fear ; her lips re- fused to utter any further promises or reiterate her oath ; but her terrified, dilated eyes seemed a stronger assurance of her obedience than any words. He seemed satisfied, for he turned away from her with- out another syllable, and was soon lost to her sight amongst the garden trees. Zora trembled so that she could scarcely stand. She sank back into her seat, and for some minutes remained passive and almost unconscious, faint with the exhaus- GLENCAIEN. 23 tion of excessive agitation. Then slie rose, and dragged herself slowly round the garden towards the house. She could scarcely realise clearly all that had passed. She felt like one in a horrible dream who clings to the hope that it is but a dream. What had she done ? She had sworn to become, by mutual knowledge and mutual secrecy, a murderer's accomplice — the ac- complice of the midnight murderer who had killed the man she loved. For although he had not pleaded guilty, he had not in plain words denied guilt ; and of that guilt Zora in the depths of her soul felt no doubt. Yet she had sworn to keep silence. She had bound this fearful secret upon her life. She must walk through the world like a convict she had read of with the corpse of his comrade fettered to him — a 24 GLKNCAIRN. secret of death and murder for ever on lier heart. She must live crushed beneath it all the days of her life. Could she bear it ? Coward as she was, in body and in soul, was not this to which she had vowed herself a worse torture than any open scandal, any shame, ay, any death ? For at the worst he could but kill her. But then she trembled with superstitious terror at the thought of breaking such an oath as he had forced her to take. She dared not do it ! She drew near the house and looked on the curtained windows, and stopped, and her limbs shook beneath her as she gazed towards one room. She knew that there lay the body of her murdered lover. With a shuddering sob she fell on her knees, and hid her face and moaned his name to herself, and murmured broken sighs of love and agony. GLEXCAIEN. 25 She had thought of herself and her own suffering. She had thought of him who lay there dead, cut off by violence in the prime of his young, strong life, through her; not by her will, but through her weakness. Hitherto she had not thought of Luli, and even when Glencairn spoke of his daughter, the thought had only touched her for the moment, and touched her re- flectively through her thoughts and fears for herself. But now she went timidly into Lull's room, where she found Kate and Mrs. Craven. Glencairn was there too. Zora looked on the deathly pale and altered beauty of the gentle rival she had envied, on the wide open eyes that looked around from face to face, as if half wondering what they were pitying her for. Luli scarcely 26 GLENCAIIIN. seemed to hear wliat they were saying to her, or to be able to realise the truth of the calamity. She had risen up and stood in the midst of them, and put her hand to her head as if to clear the wandering confusion of her mind. " I want to see him," she said, faintly and half vacantly, for she was exhausted with the mental anguish that saps the strength as surely as physical pain. *' Where is he ? Take me to him." Zora's soft heart melted with a great gush of honest womanly sympathy, and tears brimmed over her eyes. " My poor dear child," said Mrs. Craven soothingly to Luli, " stay here ; lie down. You are not strong enough to bear any more agitation." Luli did not answer, but looked at her GLENCAIEN. 27" father pleadingly, and stretclied out her hand to him. " Papa?" the faint piteous voice entreat- ed. " Papa, you never were unkind to me yet ! You will let me go to him ? I want to see him." She clung to him trustfully, beseeching- ly ; and he, his face as white as death, cast one look at Zora, one stern look that rather compelled than warned. He had seen Zora look terrified, agitated, passionate, reproachful, tearful — but never till now had he seen an expression of stead- fastness on her face. Now that fair face- wore a look of steadfast sudden resignation and resolve, that had something almost heroicin it, because of herself at thatmoment she had no thought. Only as she saw Lull turn and cling to her father in her sorrow,. 28 GLENCAIRN. she felt that in this case — even if she had xiared to break her oath — the truth would Tbe no less than murder, and that in mercy she who knew all must bear her knowledge bravely, and must keep her fearful secret and her extorted vow faith- fully to the end. Unselfish pity melted, and. unselfish resolution, right or wrong, elevated her for once ; and her eyes flashed to Glencairn with the first light of courage lie had ever seen in them, " You are safe !" " Let me go," murmured Luli. *' Yes, darling. You shall," he answered resolutely ; enduring the gaze of her wild, wistful, pleading eyes, the trustful clinging of her arms, with the endurance of a sav- age, firmly as the stoical Eed Indian bears the fire and knives of his torturers. As martyrs have looked down from the stake GLENCAIEN. 29 at the kindling fagots at their feet, un- shrinkingly, Glencairn looked upon Lull with eyes that never blenched. *'I go first," he said. "Luli, you may come; but not until I have seen him again." He went downstairs alone. " Are the police come yet ?" he inquired as he met As sunt a in the hall. *'No, signor, not yet." He turned from her, and entered the silent room, and stood alone in the pre- sence of the dead. The face of the dead was composed now ; the eyes were closed ; and the silken-soft waves of hair — the bright hair " undimmed in death" — were brushed back from the cold marble brow. Beautiful in life, the face was beautiful still, in the stern repose •30 GLENCAIRN. of death. Nay, it was nobler, grander now, that the great calm and the supreme know- ledge had set their seal upon its stony beauty. Glencairn gazed upon him with no mist blinding his eyes, no tremor quivering his firm-set lips. The calm of the dead seem- ed to move him less than the agony of the living. Yet he looked down on the dead with a strange questioning, a breathless, desperate, but unflinching suspense, as though he half expected the marble lips to move and to bear witness. Then a sense of unreality stole over him. IVas it all a dream? a ghastly and too realistic nightmare? Was it Duke May- burne indeed who lay in that impenetrable calm? Were those sealed eyes the eyes that had laughed and clouded and lightened GLENCAIEN. 31 but yesterday? Was all that he had sworn to end so surely and so effectually ended ? or was it all a dream, and would he wake to find the deed undone ? No, it was real ; too real. All that was left to do was to look to the future now. This past was beyond recall, irrevocably. And even as he gazed on the deed that had been done, the distant dreamy look so native to them softened and calmed his eyes, though the rigid restraint of his features did not relax. " Poor boy," he murmured absently, brokenly, as one far off from the actual scene. " You were young. It was not you — nor I. It was Fate. — And there is no reproach in your look now. And the wounds did not gush blood at my ap- proach. Are you loyal in death, I won- der ?" / 32 GLENCAIEN. For a while there was silence in the room, deep as though Death reigned there alone. Then Mrs. Craven softly pushed the door open, and stood on the threshold. Glencairn turned to her with a face im- penetrable as the dead face from which he turned, and said, " Let Luli come !" 33 CHAPTEE XXYI. *' Yes, night is about me, a night without star ; Blackest night with no moonlight to lighten its gloom ; But here at Love's shrine, where Love's memories are, My heart makes its tomb ! And is this then the end of our beautiful dream ? Oh ! our dream that was song and our dream that was fire? Peace lives not for me, and time cannot redeem My soul from desire." Maeston. /^N the subject of tlie young English ^■^^ artist's mysterious death, due in- quiries were held ; and the Italian police- force were busily occupied in making investigations. All the evidence that could be elicited, however, did not warrant any. one's arrest on the charge of murder. VOL. III. D 34 GLENCAIRN. It was not even proven whether the case was one of murder or of suicide. Doc- tors discussed the point, and differed as to possibilities and probabilities, but all agreed that the wounds of which he had died were such as might have been self-inflicted. The first would not have been immedi- ately mortal, but the second must have caused death almost instantly. The sup- position that the two had followed in rapid succession was corroborated by the state- ment of several persons who had heard two shots fired close together in the middle of the night, but who, not hearing any alarm or having any reason to suppose that crime was being committed, had naturally not troubled themselves to sally forth and ex- plore. There was no reason why a man bent on suicide, having inflicted the first GLENCAIRN. 35 wound on himself, should not have retained strength and consciousness to follow it up by the second. The revolver had been found lying only a few paces off, at a dis- tance to which he might easily have flung it with his own hand. In favour of the theory of murder, how- ever, one of the men who found the body stated that the bushes at the side of the road, which at that spot grew back, form- ing a kind of recess, had one or two boughs broken and trampled down, and he believed that somebody had hidden there. This, however, was merely his supposition ; and the branches on examination seemed no more broken than could easily have been accounted for in other ways ; besides even had clear marks of their being broken or trampled on by human means been detect- d2 36 GLENCAIEN. ed, it still would have afforded no clue as to the identity of the person treading them down. Suspicion fluttered and hovered about, from one quarter to another; but no incidents were found in the search of sufficient significance to afford any war- rantable presumption of any one's guilt, or even to throw any light upon the dark- ness of the moot question. There appeared to be no discoverable motive for the murder, if murder it was, indeed, unless the old, old story of lust for gold accounted for it. If this was the case, and he had been shot down for pur- poses of robbery, the murderers had in all probability committed their crime in vain, as his gold watch and chain were lying on his dressing-fcable at the villa, and, his pocket-book being also in his room, it was GLENCAIEN. 37 not likely tliat he should have had money about him. Although no other possible motive for the murder could be found existing, and no malice could be proved to have been borne by any living creature against the dead man, Rumour set in circulation twenty stories, any one of which would have solved the mystery, if anyone had had a surer foundation than a lively fancy and been woven out of anything more solid than air. He had flirted with a pretty Italian peasant-girl and roused her lover s vengeance — or her father's, or her brother's, as the story shifted its details. He had been too open in his admiration of a Countess — a married Countess. He had had words with an Italian nobleman who admired his betrothed, that lovely pale 38 GLENCAIRN. English girl. He had quarrelled with his betrothed. She had rejected him for another, and he shot himself in despair. And so on the romantic rumours ran, some favouring the suicide theory, and some that of murder. The revolver told no tales. It was a silver-mounted revolver with the letter M embossed on it; it was evidently some years old; of French make, and bore the mark of a Paris firm. This revolver was the topic of much discussion and speculation. The whole case of course hinged on the point of its ownership. Luli declared that she was positive that Duke had no revolver in his possession, for if he had he would cer- tainly have either shown it to her or men- tioned it to her. Other people held that it by no means followed, because he had GLENCAIRN. 39 never mentioned possessing a revolver to her, that lie did not possess one. Glencairn was cautious in all he said, and committed himself to no theory, but seemed on the whole to favour the suppo- sition of suicide, and pointed to the fact that the initial " M " on the weapon was presumptive evidence of its belonging to the deceased. " It is certainly odd that he should have carried loaded fire-arms in this peaceful neighbourhood," he observed once with an appearance of perplexity to Mr. Craven, "/never carry my pistol here, I keep it in my dressing-case in case of a night alarm." He opened the dressing-case casually as he spoke, and there the little ivory- duelling pistol lay, looking with its gilt filigree work like an innocent toy. 40 GLENOAIRN. " It miglit have been rather uncomfort- able," responded Mr. Craven coni&dentially, " if the revolver had not been found lying by him." "How?" asked Glencairn with his im- penetrable air. Mr. Craven looked embarrassed, and wished he had not made the remark. " Why, I mean, if it had not been found, you know — rather uncomfortable for — everybody round about this neighbourhood possessing fire-arms." " Oh, I see," said Glencairn, adding practically, " Those bullets would be a size too large for my pistol. That double- barrelled revolver carries more lead than this toy." " Where is it ?" inquired Mr. Craven. Glencairn's face clouded. GLENCATRN. 41 " Lull has it," he replied shortly. " She would have fretted herself into a brain- fever if I had not let her have it. She has some wild notion of its proving a clue some day." The question of the manner in which Duke Mayburne came by his death re- mained a mystery. The result of all in- quiries was only the decision that by whom the death-wounds were inflicted there was no evidence to show. They buried him in the sunniest corner of a peaceful Italian churchyard, and sympathetic southern women shed easy tears over the young Englishman's untimely death, and hung wreaths of immortelles over his grave. When all was over, the party that had been so gay and happy, broke up in sorrow 42 GLENCAIRN. and in sjmpatlij, and went their separate ways. The Cravens were going on to Rome and Naples. Glencairn decided to take Luli straight back to England. It may sound paradoxical, but is never- theless as true as paradox often is, to say that if Luli had remained well in health she must in all probability have died under the ordeal of those terrible days and weeks, and that it was only her falling seriously ill that almost certainly saved her life. Had she been strong and able to exert her- self, she would have worn herself to death with the vehemence with which she would have pursued her inquiries ; and the recur- ring shocks of the various stages of the investigation, the strain of watching and sharing the quest that led to nothing, would have been too much for her to endure and GLENCAIEN. 43- live, delicate as she always had been. But as it was now, physical illness in some degree dulled mental anguish ; there were intervals during which she was scarcely conscious of the reality of her grief, in which it seemed only a spectre raised by her feverish imagination, that would fade and vanish in the light of day. Her ilU ness saved Glencairn also from many an almost unbearable trial ; for as the doctor imperatively commanded that she should be as little agitated as under the sad cir- cumstances was possible, it afforded some reason and some excuse for her father s avoiding all discussion of the tragedy with her, and confining his conversation almost exclusively to expressions of the tenderest anxiety about her health. After all, the utmost that could be said 44 GLENCAIRN. of Lull was that she lived through it. She did rise from her bed ; she did come back to earth, but came back as the very ghost of her former self. The doctor and her father both agreed in the opinion that a removal from all the associations of the Italian climate and the Italian tongue, and a return back to her native air, would be the best thing for her. She was not strong enough to travel much, and it was possible that intercourse with old friends and the influence of the old home might be beneficial to her. Luli herself seemed indifferent as to where she went or what came to her now, except as regarded the solution of the mystery. The only questions she put were as to the possibilities of more evidence being found ; the only time that she assert- GLENCAIUN. 46- ed her own will witli vehemence and energy was when she declared she would not stir from Italy unless she was assured that the investigation should not be dropped ; and that should ever any clue be found neither time nor money should bo spared in following it. Glencairn, with his iron and unscrupulous will, was resolved to take her back to Engla^nd. She had neither power nor desire to oppose him, when once she was assured that her will in this matter should be carried out, and had seen with her own eyes such instructions written in'the stron2:est and clearest terms. Meanwhile, during the arrangements of the two branches of the party, nothing had been said about Zora ; but it was supposed to be understood that the original plan with which they had left London should be- 46 GLENCAIBN. carried out, and tliat she would remain with the Cravens all the time they were in Italy. But now Zora longed to leave the Cravens and live amongst strangers, live anywhere or anyhow so long as it was away from them ! with a burning feverish longing that robbed her of all rest by night, all calm by day. She loved her good and true friends still, but their presence was yet now agony to her. To live under the eyes that had known Duke, that had look- ed on him at the last, that awful " last !" — to hear their constant allusions to him — their daily wonders and sympathies and regrets — to feel their frequent chance words strike at random on her terrible secret, making her tremble as one trembles on whose track the bloodhounds are set, GLENCAIEN. 47 when a lieavy hand strikes on the hollow panel behind which he lurks ! — all this was to pass daily through a martyrdom. Yet what excuse could she invent for escaping from it ? How could she get away ? How could she dare to acknowledge, even in the closest confidence to Kate, that she, who had no more right or claim to be agitated about '' this sad affair" than Kate herself had, was so shaken to the depth of her nature by it, that the very country she had longed to see was hateful to her, and the presence of her dearest friends a tor- ture. The struggle by which she kept up ap- pearances was one that would have killed a woman physically weaker. But Zora, with all her nervous terrors and her moral cowardice, was physically strong. She bore 48 GLENCAIEN. it and lived. No brain-fever prostrated her ; no streaks of grey silvered her beau- tiful hair all through those awful days and nights. It was the energy of desperation that helped her to bear np and to guard her secret inviolate, although how she suc- ceeded in doing so was a marvel and a mystery even to herself. But from her childhood she had been a potential actress; the histrionic power never, save in rare moments of extreme emotion, deserted her; and in that faculty lay her safety now. In all her despair she had never, save in the uncontrollable anguish of that first day, lost the consciousness that she must keep the mask over her face. And on that first day, in the storm and tempest of horror and agitation all round her, her shrieks, her tears, her wild paroxysms of GLENC.UEN. 49 grief, had been lost, and passed unnoticed. If in their inmost hearts Mrs. Craven and Kate nurtured a faint suspicion that Zora had been a little more deeply interested in poor Duke than anyone before that terrible day had supposed — they suspected no more, and in natural delicacy kept their idea strictly silent. To Zora even Kate never ventured to breathe an allusion to it ; the subject was all too terrible, too painful, too sacred ; it raised a barrier between the two girls that became day by day more impos- sible to break down. Carefully, on her part, Zora, by her silence and her reserve, raised the barrier higher and higher, yet felt it would never be high enough to let her know a moment's sense of safety. She dared not let the mask slip for an in- stant ; she knew that if she were once to VOL. III. E 50 GLENCAIEN. be betrayed unawares into confessing, — hj word or look, or silence in answer to any tentative remark, — that slie had kept her heart under such slight guard that it had let a hopeless love for Luli's lover enter and possess it, even though they might now in their hearts suspect the possibility of such an affection and such a sorrow, once worded and expressed, it might lead to dangerous inquiries ; while should they ever guess that the attachment was mutual, the match would be set to the train. She dared not think what the explosion would be ! With all she had suffered, she yet had not " Fallen too low for special fear." She had done with hope ; but she was not past fear. The dread of that possible explosion was the only feeling that seemed GLENCAIRN. 61 living in her heart. All other feelings seemed numb and dead. But she was still alive to terror — terror for the ruinous blight that would fall on her name should all the story be disclosed ; for well she knew that the world would judge her hardly, and would not call her imprudence and indis- cretion by such mild terms; — terror for what might be the effect of a full exposure on Luli, for whom she felt a kind of re- morseful, passionate pity now ; — terror, above all, of Glencairn. She hated him and feared him ; she would start from her sleep at night, fancying she saw his shadow stealing along the wall; she would wake with a cry from dreams that his dark face was bending over her and his hand upon her shoulder. Yet it happened that at last it was to him she Ei' UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LlBRAf^ 52 GLENCAIRN. turned in her desperate seeking for some excuse to put the land and sea between her and the friends whose presence she could, not bear. She had reflected vaguely, with all her shrinking from him, that he alone of all the world could understand her horror of spending long months in confi- dential communication with the Cravens, her yearning to fly far from them. The daring and adventurous element was scarcely strong enough in her nature for her to leave them without excuse or explana- tion ; and besides this, she would scarcely have ventured to take such a step without Glencairn's knowledge, lest he should mis- interpret her flight as a threat to himself and follow her, for in no land, no sanctuary, would she ever have felt safe from his search. GLENCAIRN. 53 She felt a kind of relief when he spoke to her one day, saying coldly, but with scrutinising interest, "And you? what are your plans? you stay with the Cravens ?*' It happened by a rare chance that they two were for a few minutes alone. With all the despairing yearning of her soul in her eyes and her voice, catching even at the chance of his influence being able to help her, she answered, ''What can I do but stay with them? What motive could I assign for leaving them — I who am alone ! I would give worlds to get away ! I must escape from these constant associations ! but what can I do ? how can I do it ?" "What can you do?" he repeated, and his lips almost imperceptibly curled with a 54 GLENCAIRN. careless scorn of the creature he deemed so purposeless and frail and weak. " Leave it to me/' he added after a moment's silence. They had no time to say more ; but Glencairn had comprehended ; he reflected, and with his accustomed rapidity came to a conclusion. The one anchor that held him safe from a horror which even he did not dare to con- template, was Zora's secrecy. He thought that, all circumstance considered, he might trust in the probability of her keeping her oath. But there would be more danger, her power of secrecy would be more severely tested, by leaving her for months in daily close and confidential intimacy with the Cravens, far removed from his influence, and hearing almost daily wonders GLENCAIEN. 55 and speculations on the mystery of Duke Mayburne's death (as with the Cravens it would doubtless be a common topic of in- terest), than in throwing her into associa- tion with Luli for a few days under his own watchful eye. To take her with Luli to England, as the journey would only occupy a few days, and immediately they reached England to " part them well and wide apart," and during the journey to keep Zora under strict surveillance, would be safer than to leave her hundreds of miles away in the closest intimacy with a female bosom friend. He had no fear of Zora while she was under his own eye ; he knew too well the influence his look swayed over her. He made up his mind speedily. And so it happened that on the grounds of Luli's 66 GLENCAIRN. delicacy and her father's anxiety to have some lady travelling with her, of Zora's skill and helpfulness and sympathy in cases of illness, and also of a fictitious letter from a non-existent friend in London, Zora quitted the Cravens, parted from Kate with sobs and tears and kisses, — for she loved, and was grateful and remorsefully tender to, the friend whose presence was yet an hourly pain to her — travelled to Lon- don with the Glencairns, and left the fair land whose very name she for ever thence- forth shuddered at, far behind. That journey to England ! Was there one hour of it that Zora could ever forc^et ? Every hotel they rested at, every station they alighted at, every train and steamer that bore them on their way, was burnt into her memory. Yet, minutely as she GLENCAIRX. 57 remembered every detail, tlie whole journey seemed to her both then and thereafter not a reality, but a hideous long-continued dream. And looking back upon it in after- days, the memories of the hours of day- travelling, of carriage and of steamer, clear as they were, were yet faint and far off when compared with the vivid recollec- tion of the dream-like waking hours of night- travelling by rail. Almost every sensitive and impression- able imagination is moved and stirred by the mere fact of being whirled at express speed through the darkness by the power that humanity created, and yet that, as we watch it flame and roar by, seems so super- human. The impression wears out with custom, but surely it thrills us all at first. " The mightier horse we made To serve our nobler days !" 58 GLENOAIEN. "What is there of human in it, as we gaze on its headlong career that seems to lead to destruction? How it recalls to those who once have read them those noble lines of a poet admired even yet by too few, a household word still in too few homes ! " But now, unheard, I saw afar His cloud of windy mane, Now, level as a blazing star, He thunders thro' the plain ! " The life he needs, the food he loves, This cold earth bears no more ; He fodders on the eternal groves That heard the dragons roar. " Strong with the feast he roars and runs, And, in his maw unfurled, Evolves the folded fires of suns That lit a grander world. " Disdainful from his fiery jaws He snorts his vital heat. And, easy as his shadow, draws Long-drawn, the living street !" On Zora's nerves, high-strung and vi- GLENCAIEN. 59 brating to every influence moral or physi- cal now, the effect of this wild rushing through the darkness was strong and strange. She would sit staring out into the shadows with fixed and fascinated eyes, still as stone, as though she could never move again — watching the black hills and the black mysterious woods that seemed to her as if their density shrouded nameless horrors, — then watching the meadow-lands where the dusky plain blended into the dusky sky — watching the distant yellow glimmer of the lights of city or village — watching the tall black motionless trees that seemed to stand like spectre-sentinels stretching out their long black arms beside the line — watching the wayside stations where men waited to wave the light that was the signal of safety aloft, and where "60 GLENOAIEN. with a shrill shriek cutting the pall of smoke, and without a pause or an instant's slackening, the iron monster tore past in a storm of thunder and fire, the red sparks flying and flashing up in showers from the glowing wheels. It seemed all ghastly and unreal to her, and she sat mute as if in a trance, her senses seeming numbed, only vaguely wondering — where was it tending ? where would this frantic flight through the dark- ness end? It seemed impossible there •could be any end to it but death. She would think to herself — yet thinking it without any terror or shuddering, as one might think in a dream — that surely there must come a crash as of two worlds together, and one cry of many agonies, one burst of flame, and all would be ended for evermore. GLENCAIRX. 61 She never tliouglit of a beyond ; slie never trembled at the thought of such an end ; only she gazed out blankly into the night as one in a dream, with seeing but unheed- ing eyes. When daylight broke across the east, and the faint primrose of dawn rose and spread slowly above the horizon and deepened into glowing gold, she seemed to awake to a more real sense of life, and a part of tha nightmare of horror and mystery seemed to melt away with the vanishing shadows. Then she looked at Luli, who was shiver- ing in the chill of the early morning, and at Glencairn, who was folding the warm wrappers closer round her fragile figure. Zora turned her eyes away. She could not bear to look at Luli. "Would those great blue eyes of Lull's never lose that cravings 62 GLENCAIRN. look of watching, yearning, waiting^ again ? Zora never looked Glencairn full in the face ; she never glanced at him at all ex- cept by chance or necessity. But all the while, save in those tranced hours of the night during which she felt dead even to fear, she never lost the sense that he was keeping watch over her — a sleepless, re- lentless, merciless watch, like that of a tiger crouching on the path of its prey; — while over Luli at the same time he kept the unerring, eager, self- abnegating vigi- lance of love. So the ordeal of those few days' journey passed safely over ; the " silver streak of sea" was crossed; and the iron horse bore them through the smoke and over the dusky desert of tiled roofs, into the very heart of the great city. There were no GLENCAIRN. 63 hours of unbroken tete-a-tete between tlie two girls allowed; and even if there had been such, the influence of the ceaseless, silent vigilance that even in his absence seemed to surround them, would have shut Zora's soul apart from Luli's, and kept an impassable gulf open between them. On the very evening of their arrival in London the Glencairns and Zora parted, she returning to her old home, if home it could be called, though it was the nearest approach to home she knew. " I have to thank you for your kindness and attention to my daughter during our journey home," said Glencairn, ceremoni- ously, as he took farewell of her, " all the more so that we are sure the haste of our journey must have been some incon- venience to you. We hope you will keep 64 GLENCAIEN. this trifle in token of our gratitude. " He laid a little ivory pocket-book-purse on the table as he spoke. Zora started, and drew back as if some loathsome serpent had stung her, and raised her head reso- lutely, almost defiantly, as she looked at him. **I will take nothing from you," she said, shuddering. *' Money ! From you ! Not one penny if I were dying of starva- tion ! Never !" "As you choose," he replied coldly, and bowed as he made way for her to pass. But a little parcel went to Zora the next day, with an innocent, pleading, friendly letter from Luli, begging Zora not to hurt her by refusing. The writing. Lull's clear running hand, was tremulous and shaken now ; and Zora shuddered as she read the GLENCAIEN. 65 simple friendly words; and wept over them, but did not refuse. It was but little she could do to gratify Luli now ! Glencairn was sitting in his usual arm- chair by the fire. Luli was not in her old place at his feet ; she was sitting opposite him, her hands lying listlessly in her lap, abandonment, despondency, and life-weari- ness in her whole look and attitude, and in her eyes that strained and painful look of watching, waiting for the lifting of a veil that might never be raised. '* Luli," he said, breaking the silence, "we are alone and in our own country now. What do you wish ? Where can I take you ? and how shall we live ?" *' As you like, papa dear. I do not care," she said, wearily. His face clouded "more in sorrow than in anger." VOL. III. F 66 GLENCAIRN. " Try to care, Lull, for my sake. Ee- member that you are all I have," lie said, not agitatedly nor at all reproacMuUy, but with the deliberate earnestness that with him meant the deepest feeling. *^ Forgive me, dear !" she said, impulsive- ly, her eyes filling with tears ; and she rose up, and went to him, and knelt by his side. She laid her head down on his shoulder ; he passed his hand tenderly over her golden hair, and neither spoke for some moments, only in the silence each heard the other stifle back a deep, deep sigh. Then Luli said, struggling to control her voice and to speak steadily, " We are all to each other. You are all I have — now. Darling, I will try for your sake!" Her voice broke in a sob ; but in her GLENCAIEN. Q7 sorrow it was to her father she clung, and on her father's breast her tears were shed. Soothing her tenderly, but with resolute calm, as she wept, he said, " I wish you were a child again ! I could comfort you then." f2 BOOK VII. CLEAR OF THE BKEAKEKS, 71 CHAPTER XXVII, *' O moonlight deep and tender ! A year and more agone, Thy mist of golden splendour Round my betrothal shone. *' O elm-trees dark and dewy ! The very same ye seem ; The low wind whispers through ye, Ye murmur in my dream ! *' O river dim with distance ! Flow thus for ever by ! A part of my existence Within thy banks doth lie !" rpHE season is neither Spring nor Sum- mer, but the lovely mingling of the beauties of both in the transition stage, lovely as the sunrise that follows the clear grey dawn and brightens the way for 72 GLENCAIRN. the rosy morniug, lovely as tlie tender mellow hour, golden with the western glow, " That comes between the day -fall and the night." The place is not London,' but sufficiently near it for the great iron horse, "the matchless steed of the strong Kew World," to bear you, before the hour-glass has run one course, from the green trees and the fair flower-gardens into the smoke and stir of the great city. And thus, "Not wholly in the busy world, nor quite Beyond it, blooms the garden — " where the Glencairns now spend their leisure hours under the blue, soft sky of early Summer. They had taken for the season the villa called "The Chalet," a cognomen which exercises the village postman's pronuncia- tion as he experimentalises on its two GLENCAIEN. 73 syllables with an ingenuity worthy of a better cause. Why it is called " The Chalet " is not clear, unless the reason be that a lively imagination might contrive to trace some reminiscences of Switzerland in the six thin fir-trees which stand in a row by the garden-gate, and in the green verandah which runs half way round the house. They have taken it furnished, in- cluding the live-stock — item, a watch-dog, two cats, a hedgehog, and a dozen fowls, which are supposed to supply them with eggs and Spring chickens, but which do not afford much ground for this supposi- tion. A pony was not included in the list ; but Glencairn has hired a steady and manageable old pony and a low basket- chaise, that Luli may drive about the neighbourhood and enjoy fresh air without 74 GLEKCAIKN. the fatigue of walking. For communica- tion with the railway-station, this vehicle is not a necessity, as the station is but a little distance off, and Glencairn always walks to and from it ; thus pony and chaise are left almost entirely at Luli's disposal. The house was recommended as an '' Ele- gantly Furnished Bijou ;" and fairly merits the description. It has a pretty light drawing-room with a good piano, a com- fortable though somewhat sombre dining- room, and an intermediate library, well stocked, but from whose stock these tem- porary tenants do not reap much advant- age, as most of the books are locked up behind lattice-barred glass doors whose key cannot be found. The volumes are all so elegantly and newly bound and arranged with such faultless regularity that Luli GLENCAIEN. 75- sometimes doubts whether they are not merely dummies, or whether it is that the owner of the house considered in his pur- chases the outside of a book as its best part, and had never looked inside his stock of literature. In the dining-room this evening are sit- ting Glencairn and an old friend of his,. Martin Griffiths, who has lately reappeared after some ten or dozen years of absence in Australia. They have dined, and Luli has left them to linger over their dessert. Since the Autumn that bereft Luli of her- lover and cut a gulf across her life to separate her from her happy girlhood for ever, another Autumn has come and gone, and the second Spring is blossoming into the second Summer. Glencairn seems however in no way 76 GLENCAIRN. altered, save tliat the dark in his liair is now fast yielding to the grey. He leisure- ly cracks his walnuts and listens to what his friend is saying, with the same half- abstracted, yet keenly perceptive smile as of old ; he speaks with the same quietude, the same occasional rapid inflections from a reserve almost morose to a geniality that is almost gay, yet never quite light-hearted now. More than ever now Glencairn would suggest to a student of psychology the impression of a man who lives to himself alone, who alike in his sins and his virtues is shut apart in a sort of half savage isola- tion of soul, whom no external influence touches, no opinion of others moulds, because he lives in a spiritual wilderness where no perception of the principles by which others guide their lives, can reach him. GLEXCAIEX. 77" Martin Grifl&tlis however is no psjcliolo- gist; lie looks but seldom beneath the surface^ and has seen but little of Glencairn in this recent renewal of their long-ao^o intimacy. This old comrade of Glencairn's is about a& unlike Glencairn as a man can well be, except that he too has the look of a man who has lived and fought battles. Only his battles have not been wrestlings of good and evil, but material conflicts with tho winds and waves, with the wolf at the door, with the craft of humanity, and with the- force of circumstances. He is a fair, big, broad-shouldered, travelled Englishman, with an honest, pleasant smile and frank blue eyes that do not look as if they could keep a secret. He is not handsome ; he is bearded and bronzed and weather-beaten, and past the prime of life ; but a face witk 78 GLENCAIRN. that expression of strength and truth and kindliness cannot be wholly unattractive. They have talked over old times and new times, and given each other hastily outlined sketches of the way the world has been using them these many years. Then, during a silence, Martin Griffiths glances out into the garden through the folding French windows, which are thrown open. Along the gravel-path, beyond the veran- dah and the flower-border, a figure is passing slowly by — a tall slender graceful female figure, her black dress sweeping softly and lightly over the pebbly path, a black lace scarf flung over her head and falling on her shoulders. ''You have a lovely daughter, old fellow," observes Griffiths, following the dark, graceful, shadowy form with his eyes. GLENCAIRN. 79 " She is better than she looks," the other replies briefly. " It is a beautiful face," continues Martin Griffiths, " but ' so pale, so delicate ! Is she well in health ?" " She is never very strong ; but she is not ill. I hope she will be all right some day ; it seems to me that she is gradually growing stronger." Griffiths cast another look at Luli, then looked back at his friend, curiously, and somewhat hesitatingly. '* Pardon my asking, Glencairn," he said at last, '* but — is she in mourning for any- one ?" and his tone implied another ques- tion beyond his mere words. Glencairn looked for once a little sur- prised, and his keen eyes shot one quick look under their brows at Griffiths. 80 GLENCAIEN. " How did you guess ?" he said very quietly. " She had a loss ; it is long ago now. She has gob into the habit of wear- ing black, and I have not chosen to thwart her." Martin Griffiths asked no more, and Glencairn told no more. " It is getting too late for her to be out," he said, and turning to the window called Luli in. She came iu obediently, from the dusky garden into the lighted room. Luli is changed, sadly changed, but is beautiful still, only now it is a beauty painful in its fragility and transparent delicacy. She looks all the paler for the unrelieved black of her attire ; the eye rests with relief on the one gleam of colour, the still bright luxuriance of her golden hair shining beneath the black lace scarf. Her cheeks GLENCAIRN. 81 are hollower than of old ; her eyes have a dreamy, far-away, yearning look ; and over her whole face, figure, and expression, even when she smiles, lies the undefinable shadow that is never cast by physical suffering alone, and that bears witness mutely — " Un grand malheur a passe par la/' *^Are you not foolish to stay out in the night air, child ?" " It is not cold, dear," she says, and her voice is as sweet and caressing as in the past, but has a sadder intonation. " You are not tired yet of your wine and walnuts surely ?" she adds with a smile, the tender light of which beams first upon her father, but a ray of it passes on to Martin Griffiths before it fades away, and her lips settle into their habitual pensiveness. VOL. III. G 82 GLENOAIEN. " We have had enough wine and wal- nuts; we are coming into the drawing- room with you now," they reply, rising together with a commendable unity of opinion. So they pass from the dining-room into the little library adjoining, and lift aside the heavy curtains that hang across the arch where the folding doors should be, and pass on from the library into the drawing-room. There is a piano there ; but some instinct of delicacy withholds Mr. Griffiths from asking if Luli plays or sings. It is Glen- cairn who bids her go to the piano and give them a little music ; and Luli obeys prompt- ly as ever. It pleases her father to hear her ; and so, although music is as full of memories to GLEXCAmN. 83 her as to every sensitive nature, and she can never play or sing without feeling a flow of recollections rise — if a tide can be said to rise that never ebbs ! — still for his pleasure she wakes the old melodies again. She sings modern ballads and simple Italian airs. Only old English ballads she is never heard to sing now ! The old English bal- lads which Duke Mayburne loved and taught her to love too, are silent for ever so far us Lull's lips are concerned. When she has sung for a little while, not long, for singing is an exertion, and she is not equal to any fatigue, they talk, and in the general conversation all three take part ; Luli is not shy, and she and Martin GriflBths are scarcely on the ordinary terms of a gentleman and lady meeting for the first time. He is an old friend of her g2 84 GLENOAIEN. father's ; so they are quite at home to- gether ; they discuss society, theories, England and Australia, and a little shallow general politics, not getting out of Lull's depth ; it is Martin Griffiths who chiefly takes care not to steer beyond the shallows of the uncultivated feminine intellect. Luli gets interested in the discussion, and mani- fests her interest ; Glencairn's eyes brighten gravely as he notes her animation; and when Martin Griffiths at parting says, " Well, I am over at The Cedars, you know. I dare say I shall look you up to- morrow,'' Glencairn replies with unusual warmth, " Do, old fellow. We shall expect you to breakfast, lunch, dinner, or tea." It is a year and a half since Duke May- burne's tragic and still mysterious death. GLENOAIRN. 85 He is not forgotten even in tlie large circle of those friends who gave him but light liking and superficial careless admiration during his life. Now his memory endures amongst them haloed around with more interest and romance than his presence ever was. They tell the story still to strangers of how he left England for a pleasure-trip in the full hey-day of youth and happiness and prosperity, never to return ; and how the next season when his place was vacant it cast a damp and a shadow over them all. They indulge in sur- mises as to his fate, and the popular ideay espe- cially among the gentler sex, is "brigands." There are so many relics left of him in the magazines and illustrated papers of the past seasons, that memories of him are always staring his friends in the face whenever 86 GLEi\CAIRN. they turn out odd corners of their libraries. His Rembrandt-shadowed landscapes, his classic female figures, whose features during that last season one and all as- sumed a certain likeness to Luli Glencairn, — how vividly these recall him now ! and how far more brilliant promise people dis- cern in them now that the promise is blighted than in the days when it was a living power amongst them, maturing and developing month by month ! And for Luli, when her eyes fall by chance on these memorials — all that are left to remind the world of him — this " Thames by Moonlight," with the coarse engraving of which he was so wroth, this " On Board the Invincible," at which he worked in such hot haste by night and day, this "Medora"that has her eyes and A^r GLENCAIRX. 87 expression, — what feelings rusli over her and blind her to present and future, who shall say? " For recollections are as seas, That come and go in tides, and these Are flood-tides filling to the eyes." On the question as to how far Lull has recovered from her bereavement, and ral- lied from the shock that nearly was her death, there exists a wide difference of opinion among her friends. Some decide that she has quite got over it — " why ! she smiles, and even laughs, and never talks about him, poor fellow ! now " — and that any altera- tion in her is attributable purely and solely to ill-health. Others shake their heads, and declare that she never will get over it. One woman only, — well-nigh as rare among her sex as a blue dahlia among the garden flowers ! — acknowledges that it is difficult to 88 GLENCAIEN. decide on sucli points, and holds the un- orthodox creed that to interpret the cipher of another human heart from a casual stranger's view of the face, to fathom with the conventional line and plummet of ordi- nary acquaintance the exact depth of another's sorrow, is not quite so easy as to commit to memory the A B C of drawing- room etiquette. But this lady's view is exceptional. Half of the world (of the Glencairns' little world), say that " he who runs may read " that Luli Glencairn is not fretting at all now. The other half declare equally positively that she is breaking her heart. Her father watches her and says nothing. He knows that Luli has proved herself stronger than he had dared at first expect her to be ; he knows that she is the best of GLENCAIEN. 89 daughters; but lie scarcely realises how much her affection for him, and her anxiety not to grieve him, have to do with her strength in enduring, her patience in con- cealing. She knows well that she is the one idol of his heart ; and it is her con- stant effort to give to him, — not gratitude and love, for they need no effort, — but all the happiness, or the alloy that passes cur- rent for the rare gold of happiness, that it is in her power to bestow. She keeps her tears to herself, her smiles for him. Thus, although these two seem so closely united, and are so nearly allied, his dark soul is scarcely more utterly unknown to her than is her pure and spotless soul to him. Their spirits are strangers to each other, and each walks its path alone. She smiles on him, and obeys his wishes, 90 GLENCAIRN. and in a thousand little daily duties is the household angel now. All the while she is living in a dream ; the dream is reality to her, and earth and all earth's belong- ings seem the dream. Truly in this she sees not with blinded but with cleared eyes. Shall not all earth melt from us one day, melt as a cloud from the face of the sun? Shall not the world in which we have lived our inner life, the life unknown to even our dearest, endure when earth ha& sunk away from our feet ? Glencairn only sees that Luli is fair and young and beautiful, and still in the spring- time of her life ; he trusts that before the Summer of her beauty shall reach its zenith, her sorrow shall be forgotten, and the sun of new hopes shall shine in the future, and the shadow of her first love lie behind her in the past. GLENCAIEN. 91 He watches her when she smiles and the sun slants on her fair hair and lends a re- flected glow to her cheek ; and he says in his heart, rebuking his own past fear, " She will be strong one day ; she is growing stronger. I shall see my darling well and happy yet." 92 CHAPTEE XXVIII. " Shame fa' the hand that I should take It twinned me and my warld's maik !" " Your cherry cheeks and your yellow hair Gar'd me gang maiden evermair !" Old Ballad. TT seems impossible, while looking on the surging snow of the cataract dashing itself in thunder on the rocks, to realise that a few miles further it runs a smooth and rapid rippling riyer between fair green banks. So it is impossible at the time of a tragedy of life and death to realise that the currents of the surviving lives will but a brief while hence run smooth and wave- less again. Yet look, how from the whirl- GLENCAIEN. 9^ pool of the cataract, the stream struggles free at last from the circling eddies and bursts over and through the rocks until it gains the channel where it flows on swift and smooth, a purling meadow-stream again. Glencairn and his daughter are in calm waters now. They have weathered the storm, and he deems that they are clear of the breakers, and safe from sunken rocks. Life at the little Swiss-named villa with the green verandah and the six fir-trees flows on in an unruffled current that is even dull and sluggish in its utter peace. Luli wishes vaguely, languidly sometimes, that it flowed with a trifle less level mono- tony. She has no girl-friends, indeed, no intimate friends at all in the neighbour- hood ; and she is left a great deal alone, as Glencairn, to sa}^ nothing of the frequent 94 GLENCAIRN. solitary rambles, on wliicli he does not invite her to accompany him, often goes up to the town for the day, on business 'bent, and spends a fair portion of his time in being whirled at express speed over the rails by the fleetest of the iron steeds that rush snorting smoke on their way across the fields, within view of the temporary home where Luli watches them from the window as they bear her father to and fro. Sometimes he takes her with him, but not often ; partly because he says it is a useless fatigue for her, and she is better in the garden among the trees or in the drawing-room with her books and embroid- ery, ready to greet him, fair and smiling, when he comes home — and partly because when in London she will never be content without visiting the Cravens. And the GLENCAIEN. 95 Cravens, althougli Glencairn likes them personally, stand between Lull and forget- fulness, between himself and peace ; and then at their house there is always the pos- sibility of meeting Zora Brown. The very cause that leads Glencairn to shun the Cravens, is the cause that draws Luli towards them, with an unfailing mag- netism that neither time nor absence seems to have any power to weaken. She loves all those who are associated with her happy days ; and to visit the Cravens, and there to run the chance of meeting Zora Brown, is one of the few things that ever stir and interest her now. But the chances of meeting Zora are few and far between ; the paths that crossed once so fatally have diverged wide apart. Zora, after drifting about as a waif and stray for some months. 96 GLENCAIRN. has drifted into a harbour, and obtained a home as companion and amanuensis to a blind lady living in the country, and thus rarely sees even the Cravens. This is well for Glencairn. The sight of her, the mention of her, is always to him as a touch on a hidden wound that stings and darts unseen as sharply still as on the day when the steel first flashed and fell. It is not because she, and she alone, could set in motion investigations that might weave together stray floating threads of suspicion and evidence into a net whose meshes should close round him and drag him even to the scaffold. This is an^unlikely contingency, a fate he never contemplates, and thus of which he has no fear. It is not because her hand might set this machinery in motion that his soul recoils GLENCAIEN. 97 at sight or mention of her. It is because a word of hers could call down the thunder- bolt that should slay at once his already drooping flower, whose brightness he trusts the Summer sun may restore. For day after day she tells him that she is stronger, and will be blooming when the Summer is in its full bloom. He watches her with a jealous care. He almost begins to deem, as time goes on, that he has bought a right to demand her well- being by the price he paid. It sometimes appears to him that he has struck a bar- gain with Fate. He has paid, and Fate will not cheat him, surely. He has taken her to southern climates in the Winter ; he seeks the balmiest or the most bracing air accordingly as he deems she needs the one or the other. If loving care can cure her VOL. III. H 98 ' GLENCAIEN. Luli will live and be well, will be strong and bappy yet. He keeps ber to bimself as mucb as possible now, guards ber to tbe utmost of bis power from all old associations ; be even pusbes tbis exclu- siveness to tbe extent of placing obstacles in tbe way of ber being too mucb or too long witb ber kind old aunts. Tbere is seldom any brigbt young presence to cbeer up tbe *' Ancients " now. Miss Priscilla grieves at tbis ; Miss Cbristiana resents it. Botb alike take a gloomy view of Lulfs state of bealtb. But wbile Miss Cbristiana maintains ber old antagonistic attitude to- wards Glencairn, ber sister is melted still, even as sbe was of old, by tbe evidence of bis affection for Luli. " I suppose you tbink bim a fit guardian for a delicate cbild like tbat ?" says Miss GLENCAIRN. 99 Christiana, who regards Luli still as a child, Glencairn still as a very thinly dis- guised wolf. "As fit as any ma?n can be!" responds Miss Priscilla, who shares her sister's opinions as to the general helplessness of mankind, though Christiana goes a step further, and thinks the nobler sex are a useless excrescence on the face of humanity. '^ He is perfectly devoted to her, if ever I saw devotion in a man !" " Which you never did !" rejoins the other sister drily, continuing with much decision, " She's afraid of him ! She daren't say her soul's her own before him ! She seems perfectly crushed." This is an obstinate delusion of Miss Christiana's, and Miss Priscilla replies truly enough, h2 TOO GLENCAIRN. " Ab, poor dear ! it's not that she's afraid to speak, it's that she doesn't care. She hasn't the strength or the spirit to take the bright interest in everything that she used to do." " We are the most natural guardians to take care of her now her health is so poor. Why doesn't he bring her to us T demands Miss Christiana. " 1 miss the dear child as much as you can do ; but 1 can understand, poor fellow, his reluctance to part from her even for a day ! He knows she may not be very long for this world. She has the look on her face her poor mother had before she died." Then the two old ladies sighed a plaint- ive duet of regrets and forebodings. This gloomy view, which it was evident to Glencairn, although they never uttered GLENCAIEN. 101 it to him, they took of Luli, naturally did not predispose him to throw her much under their influence. Luli never, in her secret heart, objected to the loneliness of their present life ; but it was an indisput- able fact that it was lonely, and she knew it, without caring to change it. Their quiet, pretty home was just sufficiently far from town to prevent London friends from " dropping in " often, — a consequence which was not unpleasant to Glencairn, as it helped to keep Luli apart from the Cravens and old associations; yet it was sufficiently in the country for the residents in the neighbourhood to form a clique, into which admission on intimate terms was not easy. Some kindly attention was shown to the inmates of the Chalet, chiefly for the sake of the delicate-looking girl 102 GLEKCAIEN. whose sweet face attracted a certain amount of interest. But the door of the heart of the clique did not open to the Glencairns, perhaps because Glencairn never sought the key. It was a conservative and conventional clique ; Glencairn was something new and strange to it ; he startled and half-shocked it ; he uttered heterodox sentiments calcu- lated to turn society topsy-turvy ; he would be capriciously cold and stiff when they expected him to be expansive, and rough and reserved when they deemed he should be most genial. The very servants of the house spread anecdotes of Mr. Glencairn's '' queerness," which, being incomprehensi- ble, did not tend to his acceptance into the favour of his neighbours, who liked to see things clear and transparent and easily ex- GLENCAIRN. 103 plicable. "Why did he never sleep without locking his door ? why did he sit up to un- orthodox hours of the night with no valid reason or excuse for so doing ? why did he sometimes pass the night in pacing up and down without sleeping at all ? Why, above all, did he absent himself for hours, and even days, without a word of warning, and return without a word of explanation ? And why was his temper so fitful that on some days the servants would declare they " knew from his look at breakfast that he would be hectoring at them about one thing and another, with or without reason, from morning to night !" So it happens that the Glencairns lead a far more isolated life than their neighbours to the immediate north and south and east and west ; and that the visits of Martin 104 GLENCAIEN. Griffiths are proportionately welcome. He has discovered, he says, that " The Cedars " (that being a small establishment kept by a respectable married pair, too select for an hotel, too sociable for a lodg- ing-house) is the most delightful resort for quiet and country air that can be found within easy distance of London. It is evi- dent that he likes it exceedingly, for he spends a great many of his days there, and of those days he always devotes a portion to visiting a few friends who are scattered round the neighbourhood, and first on the list of these friends stand the Glencairns. By degrees that are not slow, that are, indeed, as rapid as they can be, he becomes a frequent visitor there — the only frequent visitor that they receive. Two men more utterly opposite in manner and character GLENCAIEN. 105 than Griffiths and Glencairn, it would be hard to find ; yet they have an honest, if superficial, liking for each other. There is besides the strong tie of old comradeship between them. They have prospected for gold in New Mexico together, and after parting on the Pacific coast, have found themselves thrown together again upon the South Sea Islands. The bond of frater- nity between two rovers who have roved the world through, and whose erratic paths have crossed and parted and met again, is no frail one. Still it is not very difficult to perceive that now Glencairn — although he may be an attraction, and even a strong one — is not the only attraction that draws Martin Griffiths so often to the Chalet. The evident admiration of his old friend and comrade for his daughter gratifies 106 GLENCAIEN. Glencairn, alike because it appeals to his paternal vanity, and proves to him that, even now, in her paleness and frailness of aspect, it is not only in his eyes that his darling is lovely still, and because it opens to his imagination a dim possibility of future consequences. Martin Griffiths is a good fellow, sound and true to the core ; he is well off in this world's goods too, and he is not old in Glencairn's estimation, whatever he may be in Luli's, who, indeed, has never thought about him at all. Glencairn has not thriven remarkably well in his ventures in business lately, though he has not lost sufficiently to be obliged to curtail his personal expenditure, or to deprive Luli of her last Winter at Nice, or her previous Summer on the Eng- lish lakes. She is provided for, too ; he GLENCAIRN. lOT has long ago secured her against all future contingencies as regards pecuniary loss ;; and thus, knowing that the provision for her is safe and untouched, he has been playing rather rashly in the financial game of late. He is more reckless and more obstinate than of old. Never very apt to follow advice, he now seems to delight in defying it. Indeed, in the eyes of per- fect strangers and business acquaintances, he seems more changed than either to Mar^ tin Griffiths, who sees him for the first time after many years, and always thought him a " a queer fellow ;" or to Luli, whose world is all changed, and to whom no things nor place nor person seems the same as a year and a half ago. One fine morning they are going up to town to see the Royal Academy, and Grif- 108 GLENCAIRN. fiths has come over early, immediately after breakfast, from the Cedars (the road from the Cedars to the Chalet is so fre- quently trodden by him that the lady of the Cedars remarks, with mild pleasantry, that she expects to see permanent impres- sions of his footprints in the beaten track). He is going to accompany them, of course, and as they have time before the train starts, they are lingering on the lawn, and Martin GriflB.ths is left to catalogue the beauties of Nature, while Luli runs to put on her hat. Coming back, she finds Mr. Griffiths occupied in the seemingly un- characteristic business of arranging a nose- gay. He has ruthlessly plucked the fairest white early Devonshire rose from its parent tree, has grouped with it a sprig or two of heliotrope, of fern, and a bunch of hearts- GLENCMEN. 109 ease, and is employed in binding the whole together with a twist of long grass. ^'Why, Mr. Griffiths, I didnt know tha arrangement of bouquets was in your line !" " You thought my clumsy fingers weren't up to this kind of thing," observes Mr* Griffiths, regarding his handiwork with simple and naive approval. '* But when I was young I had rather a gift of arranging bouquets." He comes to an abrupt stop in the way people do when they have not finished all they were going to say. " So I should fancy. It is very prettily arranged," says Luli in her gentle cour- teous way. Mr. Griffiths' method of presenting his offering is brusque and might by some ladies accustomed to refined petits soms have been deemed uncouth. 110 GLENCAIRN. *^You take it, please," he says, some- Tvliat abruptly pushing it into her hand. '' I made it for you." And the big, broad- shouldered, sun-bronzed man, with the grizzled threads in his hair, fairly colours, with the incongruous flush of middle age, as the girl for a moment is silent. But it is only a moment's silence of a partly flattered and gently amused surprise, that is only one degree removed from indifference, al- though she smiles very gratefully and sweetly, and the flitting ghost of a blush warms up her paleness, as she looks up at him and takes the " bouquet" with thanks. She hesitates just another moment, and then loosening the jet brooch that fastens her scarf upon her breast, she pins the ilowers there. It is done on a slight un- conscious impulse of graceful girlishness, GLENCAIRN. Ill carelessly and without thought. But both Griffiths and Glencairn, who stands by them, notice only the surface, the smile, the faint fleeting flush, the gentle dreamy eyes downcast upon the hands fastening the flowers ; and a brighter smile flashes un- consciously across both faces. It is a glad tenderness, and a hope that yet dares not triumph too soon, that lightens Glencairn's stern features ; though even in his gladdest and tenderest look there is ever an after- thought that is rather of defiance than sadness. " Now, child of mine, if your toilette is finished, it is nearly time we should be moving," he observes in a tone so much lighter and heartier than usual that Luli's mobile face reflects a sympathetic bright- ness as they cross the lawn together ; and 112 GLENCAIEN. she looks pretty enough to melt a colder heart than Martin Griffiths', with the bunch of flowers nestling on the bosom of her black dress, and a soft, long black feather trailing from her hat down over her fair braided hair. They take the train to London and drive to the Royal Academy, where they do as ninety-nine out of a hundred do, divide their attention between the pictures and the people, obeying the call of duty suffici- ently to devote the greater part of their attention to the former object. It requires the absorption of a connoisseur to shut one's eyes resolutely to the multitude of one's fellow- creatures bent on the same errand, gazing on the same object with such infinite variety of expression, and most of them marching so valiantly under the stand- GLENCAIRN. IIB ard of duty. These latter have come firstly to see, secondly to form their opinion with an eye to future conversation ; and they do their best to carry out the cam- paign. Sometimes in the formation of their opinion they make some curiously wrong shots, but the intention of self- culture is laudable all the same. These people who do not know anything about art are so very much more amusing to watch than those who do, that it is no wonder if they divide attention with the ostensible object of the exhibition. They are in their glory around every realistic bit of domestic life. They can understand, and criticise freely and with confident voice, every pretty chubby child and lovely young mother and forlorn widow. They are happy in their comments on life-sized VOL. III. I 114 GLENCAIRN. portraits of celebrities too ; but around es- says of bigh art, around classic tableaux wbicb do not arouse family sympatbies, tbey are subdued ; tbey are not quite sure wbat to admire. *' Wbat's tbat ugly tbing ?" inquires one young lady of anotber, pointing to a pic- ture on tbe line. Tbe second consults ber catalogue. " It's by an E.A. ; see !" sbe says, indi- cating tbe name. Tbe first appears taken aback. After a moment sbe rejoins, " Well, now I come to look at it in tbis ligbt, tbe colouring is very fine. Yes ; it certainly is a masterpiece." One old gentleman Luli notices especially; be is bent double witb an eye-glass, peering intently into tbe face of tbe principal female GLENCAIEN. 115 figure in a certain celebrated painter's work, so closely tliat he cannot possibly see anything in her beauty but blotches and ridges of flesh-colour ; his nose all but touches the canvas. Having for some ten minutes been, by his exclusive devo- tion to the lady's forehead, the cynosure of a good deal of amused attention, he trans- fers his inspection to the tip of a pretty foot that is peeping out below her robe as she reclines on her couch. He has almost to kneel on the ground to bring his eye- glass on a level with this, but he is not deterred, and cramped into a kind of note of interrogation, he glues his nose and his eye-glass to the lady's foot. " Is he bent on making an exact copy of the flesh-tints ?'' conjectures Luli, " or is he a moralist drawing some kind of lesson i2 116 GLENCAIKN. from the effects of proximity in proving the beautiful to be ugly?" " He evidently doesn't think that ' dis- tance lends enchantment to the view/ " suggests Glencairn. Griffiths only opines that he is a " rum old fellow ;" and then observes, regarding Luli, " I think it would take a good deal of proximity to make a pretty living face look ugly, however it may be in paint !" Luli has got a catalogue and pencil, and has been busily marking out the pictures she especially desires to criticise or admire. Before she has got half through the list, however, she is rather tired ; and as Mr. Griffiths evidently prefers her society to the masterpieces, Glencairn leaves them com- fortably seated on one of the broad soft ottomans which a beneficent committee GLENOAIllN. 117 provides for the weary devotees of Art, while he explores further. Luli would rather have been left to repose herself alone ; but she accepts the situation with her accustomed docility, and reflects that it is her duty to do her best to amuse poor Mr. Griffiths, and the glance Glencairn turns back to them from the door shows him that they are bending their heads to- gether over the marked catalogue, and pencilling it further, and apparently chat- ting congenially and pleasantly. Consequently he is surprised when, on his return from the further gallery, he discovers in the room adjoining that in which he had left the other two, Mr. Griffiths alone, contemplating a masterpiece of Millais's and looking unconsciously dis- consolate. 115 GLENCAIRN. ** Where's Lull ? isn't she well ?" " She has met a friend," explained Mr. Griffiths, **a young lady; and I thought they would like to have a quiet chat toge- ther, so I thought it as well to leave them awhile." "What young lady? who is it?" asked Glencairn. The vague answer, " Oh — a pretty- looking girl with dark curly hair," informed him at once. He was quite prepared to see the not very welcome sight that was awaiting him, of Zora Brown in the place Martin Griffiths had occupied beside Luli. Zora was more beautiful than ever, although she looked as if more than a year or two had passed over her head since the Italian sun had bronzed her cheek. Ex- GLENCMRN. 119 cept for this look as of added years, and a certain nndefinable completion of her beauty that comes only with the initiation into love and suffering, she seemed quite unchanged. The excitement of this meet- ing had brought a bright colour to Luli's cheek. The two girls were talking in a most friendly way, and regarding each other with an unmistakeable interest. " How do you do, Miss Brown ?" said Glencairn, with stiff courtesy, and withal a certain lurking interest that, although it might have been rather of repulsion than attraction, was irrepressible interest still. Zora was too good an actress to betray any agitation. With the ready sweetness of response just as of old, and just as of old, too, the shy modest drooping of the eyes — though perhaps they drooped now 120 GLENCATEN. lower tliat the long lashes might veil their expression of shrinking and pain and fear, — she replied to Glencairn, though her calmness cost her a struggle, and her fingers loould tremble as they touched his. Luli, however, happily for Zora, had no mind that her father and her newly-met friend should have much to say to each other; she arranged that the quartette should pair off otherwise, the two men to- gether and the two girls. She wanted to have Zora all to herself ; for though Zora's appearance was that of a ghost of the past to her, the ghost of the beloved causes no fear. And Zora was not sorry to see Luli again ; though in her heart one bitter thought was tingling even as she smiled. " You have a right to wear black for him ! You have a right to mourn !" GLENCAIEN. 121 *' You are living in the country witli Mrs. Aldersley now, I hear ?" said Luli. " Yes, I have ended in that," replied Zora, pleasantly enough, but with an under-current of gloom in her tone. "Ended?" echoed Luli, looking on her companion's young and lovely face with a smile, that involuntarily faded in a sigh. *' She talks of ending who has yet her life to live !" thought Luli, who was in this case guilty of the prevalent error of judging by what she saw as exclusively as if nothing existed that she could not see. ^' Yes, ended!" repeated Zora, "I see nothinof else before me. You know I have made various attempts in other ways of life, and have finally settled down in this. You heard of my trying the stage ?" "Yes, Kate told me." 122 GLENCAIRN. No allusion was made to the date of this experiment by either of them, for it had followed too closely upon that Autumn in Italy for them both not to be aware of the delicacy of the ground, and so skirt round it cautiously. "You did not like the stage, I sup- pose ?" continued Luli, conversationally. *^ I liked it well enough. I should have liked it better if I had ever had a part, or ever been likely to have a part. I suppose I was fortunate in getting the chance at all, and I got paid for it, which after all was the chief thing. I had nothing to do but walk on and off the stage in a Spanish costume, very unlike, I imagine, what any Spaniard ever wore ! I might have help- ed to fill up the back of the stage as one of a crowd of peasants or one of a crowd GLENCMEN. 123 of masqueraders, up to this day if it had not been for my getting introduced to Mrs. Aldersley." " But you would not always have been at the back of the stage ? you would have got on to some good part ?" suggested Luli. Zora shook her head. " That is easier hoped for than done," she said. " There were girls there who had been going on at it for years and never got higher than a lady-in-waiting with nothing to say and nothing to do but to hand the Princess's or Countess's fan. And I unluckily have not got the voice for the stage. I found that out when I was there, although I had only one exclamation to make. I thank Mrs. Aldersley for read- ing me the lesson she did. She took a 124 GLENCAIRN. fancy to me, and talked to me one day. It was rather an unpalatable lesson, but it was a true and a useful one. She is very good to me, and she is a woman to love ^nd admire. She is blind, you know, and hers is a sad story — a life of brilliant pro- mise blighted by one illness that ended in this affliction. So now, being with her, my life is of some use, you see, — not much, but still a little." " Of a great deal, I am sure," said Luli, sympathetically. " You must be an in- valuable help and comfort to her. You live in the country, do you not? are you up in town alone to-day ?" " Oh no. Mrs. Alder sley is in London for a few weeks, and as she is staying with friends, I am not so much required about Jier. I am with her, of course ; but I am GLENCAIRN. 125- not necessary to lier now that she is in a house full of intimate friends, so I have plenty of time to go about ; she says she likes me to have a holiday. It is such a pity that Kate is at Hastings now ; my opportunities of seeing her are so rare that I am sorry to lose this one." " Is Kate at Hastings, then ?" " Yes. I hope she may be back before we leave town again," replied Zora. Luli was silent a moment, and turned over a page of the catalogue abstractedly. Then she said thoughtfully, turning her large earnest eyes on Zora with a half-in- quiring, half-pleading look, " I wish you would come and see me. We are in a quiet little country place, you know, at present; and I daresay you have enough of the country now that yoa 126 GLENCAIBN. live there. But we are not far from town, and I wish, as you have plenty of leisure now, that you would come and pay me a visit." "I should be delighted," said Zora, at first mechanically repeating from mere force of habit the form of speech with which she would have replied to any other such invi- tation from any other person, and smiling the stereotyped smile. Then she paused, and an earnest thoughtful look chased the soft society-smile from her face ; she cast one half -inquiring, sad, scrutinising glance at Luli, and her eyes sank from before Lulf s clear, gentle, unsuspicious gaze. "I should like to come and see you at jour home," Zora said slowly and half- liesitatingly, but still sincerely. For although the sight of Luli was a GLENCAIEK. 127 sharp pain to her, yet in the very stinging of the wound there was a keenness more endurable than the long dull ache of ever- lasting suppression and isolation of soul. Storm and tumult by their very nature in- spire and excite, even though the thrill they cause is pain. The spirit sinks drowned and stifled in the black, dense, bitter waters of some unstirred eternal memory, where in the tempest of winds and waves, of clashing fragments of the shipwrecked past, and conflicting currents of passion, it arises strong to dare and to endure. As curious as it is irresistible and uni- versal, in all created things of however opposite natures, is the longing to flee away into solitude from suffering, as if by so fleeing the sorrow might be escaped ! When Zora got home, to her temporary 128 GLENCAIRN. home, tliat day, she fled to her room and shut her door as though she could bar out the haunting thoughts that tracked her up the stair. " Oh ! if I should shriek it all out in my dreams some night !" she thought, with passionate trembling and horror. ^'In my dreams! Was it not all a dream? all a hideous nightmare ? all that terrible time ? Yet, if it were all a dream, where is lie ? He would be by her side, and she would not be in mourning and alone !" Then she flung up her hands to hide her face, although no eye was near to see, and the heavy tears welled through her strain- ingly-clasped fingers as she cried, " Duke ! Duke ! How was it I could bear the touch of the hand that dared to take mine to-day ! as if there was no blood upon it !" 129 CHAPTER XXIX. " No later light has lightened up my heaven, No second morn has ever shone for me, All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given, All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee !" Emily Bronte. rpHAT evening after dinner, while Glen- cairn stood on the threshold of the long French window opening on the veran- dah, leisurely picking a cigar out of a full case, preparatory to a walk and a smoke in the garden, and Luli, tired with her day's excursion, leant back in a low easy-chair, Martin Griffiths, who had returned with them to dinner, sat opposite to her, with his long legs stretched across the hearth- A'-OL. III. K 130 GLEKCAIRN. rug, apparently deeply engaged in contem- plating a small speck of mud on his boots, really enjoying the consciousness that Luli was so near to him, and that every time he raised his eyes they must naturally fix upon her face, and in the lazy lounging of his attitude tacitly postponing the moment when he must arise and join Glencairn in the garden. Luli was looking thoughtful as well as tired. They could neither of them, with all the keen insight of affection in their eyes, discern how under the surface she kept so calm and serene, one thought was ever and always working. The chords of one memory were never still. Like the Eolian harp in the lightest breath of air on the stillest day they throbbed and quivered. And this day they had been additionally GLENCAIEN. 131 stirred. Not only Zora's face had arisen before her like a ghost of the dear dead past, but the very place where the two girls had met was one calculated to arouse the same train of ideas in both. The thought that reflected its tragic shadow now in Lull's dreamy eyes, the thought unguessed and undreamt of by either of the two men who cared for her in regard to any physical fatigue so anxiously, was, " I shall never see his picture hanging on those walls ! That was our dream. Never, never now ! Ah, if it had been, I should have been far prouder than he !" She was drifting away into a dream of past possibilities evolving from that great "If," when Mr. Griffiths's voice broke up the dream by a well-intentioned, though far from original, inquiry as to her com- k2 ] 32 GLENCAIRN. fort, whicli lie had repeated several times in various forms since lie liad wheeled tlie arm-chair forward for her. Luli smiled gratefully, and then presently going off into another train of thought, looked towards her father's tall, dark figure as he stood apparently mounting sentinel by the window, and observed rather hesitatingly — " Papa, dear." "Well?" " Was it not odd, our meeting Zora Brown to-day ?" " Was it ? Perhaps it was." '' I enjoyed a nice talk with her. I think she is so charming. Might I not ask her to come and spend a day or two with me ?" Glencairn was silent a moment or two, striking a match and shading it with his GLENCAIRN. 133 fingers, and watcliing it flicker and sputter into flame. " What do you want the girl here for ?" he then said, as brusquely as he ever was known to speak to Luli; and as she did not instantly reply, he flung down the carefully-lighted match, turned away with- out looking at her, and went across the verandah into the garden. Martin Griffiths saw a shade of disap- pointment and distress cloud over Luli's face — a look of perplexed wonder, too, for it was rarely any wish of hers was thwarted. " You look disappointed," he said, after a minute's silence, during which she was unconscious of the attentive way in which he had been regarding her. *' I don't like to see you look disappointed about any- 134 GLENCAIEN. thing. Are you dull in this quiet place ? Do you want some young friends around ?'' Luli looked up and smiled gratefully, appreciative of the kindness of her father s good old friend. '* I am not dull," she said ; *' but I should have been pleased to have had Zora here. I like Zora. But it does not matter." She could not repress a little sigh, however. Slow-witted Martin Griffiths did not at all suspect that there was any especial reason for her liking Zora; and his heart was quite melted by the repressed sigh. ''Would not her young lady friend's society be good for Luli?" he ventured to say, presently, as he and Glencairn walked up and down the garden together. '' Good for her !'' echoed Glencairn, with a short laugh. ''Why? Do you GLENCAIRX. 135 think she's bored by us two old fogies ?" "ISTo," said Griffiths, his honest face falling a little under this classification; "but I suppose it's natural girls should like a little girl- companion ship." Glencairn frowned, and looked irresolute for a moment, the impulses of confidence and reserve warring in his mind ; then the influence that led him often to choose the most hazardous course, partly for the sake of experiment, swayed down the balance in favour of a certain measure of confidence. '^ This girl was with Luli at the time when — that man whom she was engaged to — died," he said, abruptly, but with two pauses in the sentence, not as if he hesitated at a stumbling-block, but as if he gathered his forces to charge it. "And it recalls him to her mind — 136 GLENCAIEN. naturally," said Griffitlis, looking down along the patli very gravely. Any further question of his on the sub- ject would probably have aroused Glen- cairn's never very placid temper ; for there was a half savage impatience in the move- ment with which he struck the ash off his cigar and tossed it away. But Griffiths made no inquiry. He only said, after a short silence — " If the child has a strong wish," — half as if speaking to himself, his voice quite unconsciously and involuntarily taking a tone as if it were he who had a sacrifice asked of him and was willing to make it. Glencairn glanced at him under his brows, and laughed again his short, hard, not very pleasant laugh. *'A woman will have her way, I sup- GLENCAIRN. 137 pose," he said. " And if it is to be, she may as well have her will first as last." They said nothing more about it in the garden ; but Glencairn was more than usually silent during their smoke and stroll ; and when they re-entered the draw- ing-room, he said to Luli — " Well, child, you want this girl — Zora —here ?" *' I should like to have her, papa, if you do not dislike her ? — and if you would not mind ?" ''Dislike her? Why should I dislike her, child? She's a nice girl enough, I daresay." '' It would be so nice for me to have her here," said Luli, with a pretty, timid, coax- ing accent. "She is so soft and gentle, and so kind, and so pretty !" 138 GLENOAIEN. ** Potent reasons! Well, ask her to come." He did not see, on reflection, any reason for withdrawing his consent. A train of gunpowder is safer under close watch and ward than if it is left unguarded and neglected, and the sentinel's eye is far off. So Luli had her wish. She wrote to invite Zora Brown to spend a few days with her ; and Zora accepted the invitation. She might hate and fear Glencairn, but she neither feared nor hated Luli — indeed, she regarded her now with only kind and tender and pitying and self-reproachful feelings ; and as the moth with scorching wings hovers still around the flame, so Zora was drawn by an irresistible impulse to renew the association that meant only pain. The flame of memory burnt her, till her GLENCAIRN. 13 9* spirit writhed beneath the fiery smart ; but still she hovered close to the flame, flung herself at last into the deepest consuming fire of the past, in flinging herself rashly but resolutely into daily intimate com- munion with Luli once more. " You are sure you will not want me ? — you can spare me well ?" she said affection- ately to Mrs. Alder sley, as she sat at her feet on a low footstool, with her letter- accepting Luli's invitation in her hand. " I will not send my letter to the post, unless you are quite certain." " I am quite certain, my dear," replied the blind lady. A noble and majestic- looking woman she was, in the Autumn of a beauty that must have been glorious in. its prime, and was faded more by suffering than age. She was very fond of Zora, who 140 GLENOAIBN. surrounded her with almost filially-devoted •care and attention ; and over Zora she held the influence of a stronger and grander nature over one soft, weak, loving, and prone to admire and look up. " I have not heard you mention this young lady. Miss Glencairn, before," Mrs. Aldersley continued. " Who is she ?" This simple question seemed unaccount- ably difficult to Zora to answer. The only reply that rose from her heart was " She is the girl who loved and was engaged to Mm !" and that reply must not be uttered. She ended in replying vaguely, " She is a friend of Kate Craven's." " She looks in bad health, you tell me ? Is she an orphan ?" ''Yes — no. She has no mother." " And you are very anxious to go and GLEN CAIRN. 141 spend a few days with her?" said Mrs- Aldersley gently. *'Not if you could not spare me well." '* I can spare you. But you are anxious to go. Has this young lady a brother?" " No, she is an only child." " Then what is the attraction, Zora ? I& it her father?" asked Mrs. Aldersley, who was plain-spoken, but with whose calm, grave inquiry, far removed from vulgar gossip and springing from genuine inter- est, no offence could be taken, and which generally by its own simple, outspoken sincerity drew a response as simple and sincere. " No, indeed. Miss Glencairn is the only attraction to me," replied Zora, sweetly^ *' the only attraction anybody would be likely to find there, I should think. Yoa 142 GLENCAIRN. would not wonder at it if you knew lier ; slie is so sweet and gentle and charming." *^ And I liave never heard you mention lier name before," said the blind lady, quietly. " She is a friend of the Miss Craven with whom you travelled in Italy ?" "Yes." " Was she in Italy too at that time?" "Yes." " You have seen much of her since then ?" "No!" Mrs. Alder sley's eyes could not see the nervous shrinking look come over Zora's face. But she knew as well as if she had her sisfht that Zora had bent her head down low with an instinctive movement as if to conceal her face from the eyes that could not see it. Mrs. Aldersley laid her hand GLENCAIRN. 143 upon Zora's soft curls steadily and silently, with a kind of mesmeric toucli that seemed to serve her the purpose of sight. " You never talk of Italy," she said after a few moments, ^'and you have never mentioned Miss Glencairn. Her name is written in that secret corner of your heart which you have never unveiled to me. And," she added slowly, as she felt a scarcely perceptible tremor stir the girl's frame, ''her name is not written there alone. I have guessed right, Zora, so far. Do not tell me so. I know it " " Dear, dearest friend, guess no more !" said Zora, impulsively, earnestly, entreat- in gly, lifting up her bowed head. "Whether you guess right or wrong, I beseech you, think on this subject no more! Promise me," she continued tremulously, almost 144 GLENCAIKN. passionately, clinging to her friend as if in prayer, " never to think of it again ! I do not beg you not to ash me — but I beg you not to think ; for your thoughts will read mine ! You have always been so good to me ; be best of all now ! and let that sub- ject sleep." Zora trembled in her entreaty, for she dreaded the piercing intuitive keenness of Mrs. Aldersley's perception, more than the scrutiny of any seeing eyes. She knew that whereas she could act, in look and in speech, so as to blind and mislead those even who gazed upon her face most watchfully, she could not blind those spiritual eyes that seemed to look into her heart. Because she felt she could not defend herself against any shaft that might strike upon her secret, she turned and threw herself GLENCAIEN. 1 45 upon the mercy and tlie honour of her whose aim she feared, and so disarmed her. Zora knew well before what natures it is safe to drop your weapons, and secure yourself by flinging away your shield. *' Zora, Zora, so it is as serious as this ?" said Mrs. Aldersley tenderly. "I fancied something of this from the moment you mentioned her name ; but I will fancy no more. I will not ponder over it nor try to fathom your secret unless you confide in me of your own free-will. Trust me, dear child, I will never seek to know this story you conceal from me — never, till you give me leave !" '' That will never be," said Zora, " until — ^unless " — she paused as a new thought crossed her mind, that Death only, and not the death of one alone, could ever re- VOL. III. L 146 GLENCAIEN. move the seal from her lips. Then she added bravely, " But I know now that I am safe with you ; for you will keep your word." 147 CHAPTER XXX. " Like, but unlike, the sun that shone. The waves that kissed the shore ; The words we said ; the songs we sung ; Like, — unlike ! evermore !" " For ghosts unseen crept in between, And when our songs flowed free, Sang discords in an undertone That marred our harmony." " ' The past is ours, not yours,' they said ; The waves that kiss the shore Though like the same are not the same O never, never more !" f\^ the first morning of Zora's visit to Luli, as fhe two girls are sitting in a cosy nook of the shrubbery, — playing with a lapful of kittens, while the old cat purrs at their feet, half-flattered and half- l2 148 GLENCAIEN. anxious, stretching lier whiskered tabby head up to assure herself of the well-being of her offspring, — Glencairn looks at them, and thinks (as Zora has thought), " Can the past have been all a dream ?" But with the sense of reality of the past, there comes to him the sense of assurance that the pre- sent is safe. There is no suggestion of lurking danger in the picture that presents itself to his eyes. A background of slim frail fir-trees swaying across a blue sky; a green lawn ; tall laurel shrubs ; a so-called rustic bench, to imitate the branches of a tree, with arms and back and legs eccen- trically twisted and contorted as no natural branch ever grew yet. On this resting-place are two fair young girls, sitting half in the shade of the laurels, half GLENCAIRN. 149 in tlie sunlight that streams across the lawn. They are deep in discussion on the respective merits of the black and the black-and-white and the tabby kittens, who are blinking their lately opened eyes and tangling their unmanageable little un- sheathed claws in the lace of Lull's sleeves. The old tabby mother rubs her head against Zora's knee and arches her back, as if expressing confidence in the satisfactory position of her offspring, but at the same time putting in a plea for their speedy restoration to her maternal paws. Zora is fresh and fair as morning in her simple, but becoming dress of pale cambric, with a black velvet ribbon round her neck. Her soft dark hair is pushed behind her ears and prisoned back by a tortoise-shell comb, but two or three loose curls stray 150 GLENCAIEN. over her shoulder. Her fair and spotless complexion warms into a pale and delicate pink, like the heart of a white rose, and her pretty little white teeth gleam as she smiles and shows the dimple that perfects her cheek. That dimpled cheek is so smooth and fair and round, that with her curling hair and parted lips it gives her something of a childlike aspect still, even now that the dawn of early youth has past. She does not look like one who has suffered much, unless you search the depths of her eyes. Yet she has suffered sharper and bitterer, because more complex, pain than Luli ever has. But her more elastic nature, although it never wholly throws off the burden, and ' bows crushed to the earth at times, yet never loses its wonder- ful power of rising and rallying. GLENC.VIEN. 151 Luli too this morning looks well and bright ;. and as Glencairn stands talking to his friend Griffiths in the verandah, and yet keeping an attentive regard on the two girls, he hears Zora laugh gaily, and Luli's soft laugh join in chorus. It is sweet to hear ; but still it recalls with sudden and startling vividness the same united laughter under the olive trees on the terrace in those unforgotten days of Italy. Glencairn's stern brow contracts with a curious scrutiny as he looks at Zora ; and his lip curls in a kind of scornful bitter- ness which puzzles Martin Griffiths. " So runs the world away !" observes Glencairn, as if speaking to himself. Griffiths is not any the less puzzled on account of this remark ; he does not see any 152 GLENOAIRN. especial appropriateness in thafc convenient quotation which is so universally appo- site to anything, from a fancy dress-ball to a funeral. They stroll across the lawn to join the two girls, and Glencairn's hard smile soft- ens as he meets Lull's upward look at him. " Well, child of mine, and how many of these kittens are you going to commit to the deep ?" " Oh, none of them ; they are such pretty little darlings !" says soft-hearted Luli. " It does seem cruel, doesn't it ?" agrees amiable Zora. " I don't believe you would set foot upon a worm," observes Griffiths, addressing Luli with more affection than originality. " She would not have made a good Pro- GLEy CAIRN. 153 yidence, would she ? She would temper the wind to the unshorn sheep !" remarks Glencairn. Lull and Zora, now for the first time (since the days of that sad journey when they were in too sore sorrow to be com- panionable) thrown together upon each others sole companionship, liked each other, and were drawn together by a deep, longing, unuttered sympathy. Before one day of this new intimacy had past, they were each beginning to realise that the other was not the same as in those past Antumn days — that it was a new Luli and a new Zora, who had to make ac- quaintance with each other now. In Luli, whose love had been simple, open, pure, and free, whose sorrow was as simple and natural and pure, the change 154 GLENCAIEX. was evident and simple too, a natural change from hope to memory, from glad- ness to a mourning that, though unselfish- * ly silent and serene, was mourning ever. In Zora, who seemed less altered, a change as great had worked itself. Whoever has once stood face to face with a tragic Destiny can never be quite the same again. Whoever once is forced into contact with the terrible realities of Life and Death, has crossed a Eubicon. So Zora is altered now. Her tranquil sweetness of temper, her bright equability of spirit, is a a little shaken. She is gentle and amiable always, but sometimes un- nerved and overstrung by the daily and nightly gnawing of the wolf at her heart, which she, not so much through Spartan courage as through a shrinking terror and GLENCAIEN. 155- horror of the biting secret, may never un- cover, under whose fangs she must never cry out. Still she is a better woman now than before the stern reality of agony had seized upon her soul ; and in her weakness and her secrecy she is yet stronger and truer than she ever was before; for love and remorse and sorrow have struck to the deepest depths of her nature ; and although she is not, and never will be, heroic, she has learnt to scorn her own weakness, and in her endurance now there is an element of aspira- tion hitherto unknown to that soft, easy, impulsive nature which superficially was sa self -abnegating, and in its depths unstirred by any but self -considerations — once. Now she has left that old soft pleasure- seeking self behind ; purged away like dross in the furnace whose cruel fires have 156 GLENCAIRN. found lier purer gold than tliose wlio knew her thoroughly in her earliest days could have hoped. After twenty-four hours together, Luli and Zora know the change in each other, and feel as if this new intimacy had al- ready endured for years. The secret occult sympathy uniting them draws them closer hour by hour. Equally soon Glencairn perceives two things, that Zora's presence has, as he had anticipated, an influence over Luli, and that it is not the depressing influence which he had feared. He thinks that Luli seems the better and the stronger for Zora's company ; the danger seems no nearer now that Zora is so near ; the past is safely sealed ; she will never dare to break that solemn seal of an oath set on the deed that is done and buried. Since this is so, GLENCATEN. 157 and her presence seems a gratification to Luli, let her stay ! A week — a fortnight — will scarcely be more dangerous than a day. One evening he and Griffiths go out for a walk, leaving the two girls alone. They do not make it a long walk, for they have plenty of exercise in the day, and they find each other's company a shade less magnetic than the society which is waiting in the pretty drawing-room of the Chalet. They saunter slowly back before the darkness of night has fairly closed. It is a calm night of early Summer ; a night for memories and dreams. The trees are still, as if they were listening to the song that is in the silence ; the shadows of the branches on the ground have no stir ; the sky is clear, divine, and deep, cloudless, 158 GLENCAIUN. moonless ; the one pure star of evening is its brightest light. Over all the earth there seems to lie a great hush and calm, unbroken save by one faint, sharp chirp from a startled bird. The influence of such a Summer night is that which makes young hearts, which can conceive the •deepest joy, and have not known the bitterest woe, swell with a rapture of un- realized hopes, and older hearts, which have realized and seen reality decay, sigh with a passion for a lost ideal. It is a night which makes the present a dream, the past a reality, the future a mirage close at hand. Glencairn and Griffiths pace along silent- ly under the starlit sky. On such a night it is a common-place or a coarse nature that lightly breaks with words of common-place GLENCAIEN. 159 nothings the stillness that seems heaven- born. As they come among the houses and draw nearer to the Chalet, the spell of that divine silence fades away. They hear the harsh scream of one neighbour's pea- cock; the rattle of the light wheels of another's chaise ; from the garden-ground of another of the " resident gentry " comes the click of the croquet-ball and the mallet. Then the whistle of a train ; and then, as they arrive close to the Chalet, a sweeter sound comes to them on the wings of the faintly-breathing breeze that barely stirs, and then sinks into sleep again. A girl's voice is singing, Z era's voice, as Glencairn recognises ; then it ceases ; a few wandering chords are struck on the piano ; a different melody is woven in, and Luli's voice uprises clear and low and 160 GLENCAIEN. sweet, but distinct enough for every note to reacli their ear, as they are by this time at the garden-gate. Glencairn stands still and listens with his hand on the latch. What is it that she is singing ? It is the melody he remembers well; it is what Zora's mother used to sing, in the days when first she led him captive, before he learned to know her as she was, while still the glamour was blinding his eyes, more than a score of years ago. It is the melody that in Zora's voice first woke the echoes of the past and set them ringing through his mind, in the gardens by the Lake of Como. Zora must have taught it to Luli ; once or twice he has heard his daughter, in her utter unconsciousness of the associations it bore to him, casually strike a note or GLENCAIEN. ' 161 two, or sing by snatches a few bars of it. But she habitually only sings to him certain favourite songs of his ; he has never heard her sing that song before as she is singing it now. He hears the old words, the old tune, repeated in her pure soft voice ; they fall distinctly on his ear in the evening silence. Is there anything in this world that stirs old memories so strongly as the odour of some certain flower ? One breath of Cape jasmine will photograph on the air a twenty-years' -past scene, will bring before the mind's eye the living smile of the face the coffin-lid hid away half a century ago. But second only to this power of certain fragrances, there is no force like music for breaking open the sealed doors of haunted VOL. ni. M 162 GLENCAIEN. chambers in the past. All the spectres he has locked away from his present life seem to be let loose upon Glencairn as the old tune rings in his ears, sung in a voice how different ! This makes it all the more ghostly. " So like the same, yet not the same." But he will not let the memories master him. He will be lord of them ; and quietly and steadily he lifts the latch of the gate and walks down the path to the verandah. Griffiths follows him, treading softly so as not to disturb the singer. Zora can sing that song exquisitely, and the compass of her voice perhaps suits it a trifle more perfectly than Luli's. But Luli sings it now as Zora has never sung it. To her too it is full of memory. As she sings it she is leaning back in a boat on the lake of Oomo, drifting slowly past the twilight GLENCAIRN. 163 beauty of the shores, gazing dreamily at the red sunset, listening to the low plash of the oar ; — and he is by her side ! All the love, all the longing, all the faith and passion of her soul, burst forth in the out- pouring of the song that was sung that night. The immortality of the past it is that fills her voice with that strange thrill as if the very heart of love beat in her tones. " What day shall all the dead arise Those moonlit waves closed o'er ? When shall my dead who with them lies Come live and love once more ? What hour shall to these exiled eyes Their lost — their home restore ?" As she finishes the last line, a shadow falls across the window, and the two men stand on the threshold. Zora is sitting in a low chair by the piano, drooping back in the shade of the corner, with her head bent m2 164 GLENOAIRN. down. They cannot see her face. Luli looks round as she becomes conscious of their presence, and the .lamplight shines full upon her face in its pale spiritual beauty. "A face in nowise proud or grand But strange and sad and fair." "You sing that well, Luli," observes Glencairn quietly. "Thank you, Miss Glencairn, thank you," says Griffiths earnestly. " Do you like it ?" responds Luli, looking up at them. " It is Zora's song ; but she will not sing it to-night." "Will she not?" asks Glencairn, politely enough as to tone, casting a glance at the drooping figure and downcast face in the shadows. "It suits your voice beautifully," says Griffiths. GLENCAIEN. 165 " I am in a singing mood to-night," re- sponds Luli, her fingers straying over the keys as she still turns her face upward to- wards the listeners in the lamplight. There is something new and thrilling and strange in her loveliness to-night that strikes them both. A sort of flush and light of daring and exaltation illuminates her face. She has the look of one who is triumphing in a new strength, able to pass . an ordeal under which she had deemed she must break down, strong not through want, but through excess, of feeling, not through insensibility of nerve, but through the in- tensity of the soul's yearning which seems full of force enough to break through the barriers between world and world. " Yes, I can sing the last verse again if you like," she says with the same kind of 166 GLENCAIEN. thrill and daring in her voice. And she does sing it again, with the same abandon- ment of passion and rapture of aspiration and longing in her eyes and tone. Only on the last syllable the pure impassioned voice quivers ; a sudden mist blinds the upward gazing eyes, and the long lashes sweep down over them and veil the brimming tears. It is well that it is the last syllable, for she has strained her strength to its limits, and knows she can sing no more. She retains her superficial tranquillity, however, and the tears that have risen do not fall, and the silent lips do not tremble perceptibly. But the last words of the song have somehow struck a strange cold fear home to Glencairn's heart. GLENCAIRN. 167 " What hour shall to these exiled eyes Their lost — ^their home restore ?" What if the hour should be near ? She is so fragile in all her youth and beauty ! What if the hour of that re- union be not far off ? No, no ; it cannot be ! He thrusts the idea from him vio- lently, fiercely. Folly to be moved with forebodings at a foolish verse! She is well, and stronger than she has been for years. He has steered the bark safely over shoals and rocks and past the breakers. They are nearly in the harbour now ! 16S CHAPTEE XXXL ** Sister, my sister, O soft light swallow ! Though all things feast in the Spring's guest-chamber, How hast thou heart to be glad thereof yet ? For where thou fliest I shall not follow, Till life forget and death remember, Till thou remember and I forget !" *' O sweet stray sister, O shifting swallow. The heart's division divideth us ! Thy heart is light as a leaf of a tree, But mine goes forth among sea-gulfs hollow. To the place of the slaying of Itylus, The feast of Daulis, the Thracian sea." Swinburne. f70RA has only been staying with Luli Glencairn for two or three days when Kate Craven, who has returned from Hastings sooner than she was expected, GLENCAIEN. 169 makes her appearance at the Chalet for a flying visit of a few hours. She is bright and gay and demonstrative as ever. What- ever the passing seasons may have given to or taken from her, they have shadowed her blue eyes with no deeper expression, stolen not one of the roses from her cheek. "It is a shame, Luli, for you to seize upon Zora, and get her here all to your- self, while I was out of the way," she observes, with a feint of being aggrieved. ^'It is 'real mean,' as the Yankees would say. I have half a mind to take possession of her now and carry her back with me." " Please don't," responds Luli, smiling, but earnestly too; " I can't spare her just yet. You won't run away so soon, Zora, will you ?" " Well, I won't grudge her to you, as 170 GLENCAIRN. you're moped up all alone down here,'^ says Kate, magnanimously and frankly. " / have lots of society and fun, and more parties than I can go to. So you may have Zora for a little while." " Mr. Griffiths " is here announced, and makes his appearance in the drawing- room, tall, broad, big, light-haired, and grizzly bearded, and clad in a rough, light-coloured coat, that gives him some- thing the appearance of a large, light New- foundland dog. He is introduced to Miss Craven, greets Miss Brown, and takes Luli's hand very much as if it were a white rose. Then, being probably dazzled and embarrassed by this radiant trio of girl- hood, he looks round, as if to find some support in Glencairn, and finds him not. ** Where's your father ?" he inquires. GLENCAIRN. 171 " He may be anywhere within a hundred miles," repHes Luli, with a placid smile^ " He is off on one of his wanderings. When we came down to breakfast this morning, we found no sign of him but a half cup of cold coffee and a crust of bread. By which I knew that he had betaken him-^ self — heaven knows where — on one of his mysterious rambles." "When do you expect him back?" " Haven't you known papa long enough to have discovered the utter futility of expecting him at any given time or place ?" " He was always somewhat erratic," admitted Martin Griffiths, with a smile of amused reminiscence. "And does he really play these little games often ?" inquired Kate. " They are rather a favourite amuse- 1/2 GLENCAIRN. ment of his," replied Luli. *' I am accus- tomed to them, but I think they astonish the domestics. A few weeks ago," she added, with a smile brightening up her iace like sunshine, " he went for a consti- tutional walk before daylight. The hall- door was heard to shut at that unearthly hour, and the rest of the household assem- bled in my room in alarm, and in amusing deshabille. They thought it was a burglar getting in, instead of the master going out." " Lunch is ready," announced one of the household at this moment. " You really are not going to wait lunch for your papa, then ?" remarked Kate. " I am afraid you would all run a chance of getting very hungry if I did ; and I -don't want my own appetite to become too GLENCAIEN. 173 wolfish," laughed Lull, whose meals would have been a moderately suflficient portion for a canary. "Well — I Perhaps, as your father's not at home " observed Martin Grif- fiths, vaguely looking about for his hat, with a transparent feint of being about to take his leave, that caused Kate Craven to turn her head abruptly away to conceal her laughter. "But of course you will stay," said Luli, opening her eyes. " Come, take Miss Craven in to lunch." "Mr. Griffiths is naturally alarmed at the idea of having to carve for three young ladies," observed Kate, endeavouring, by the preternatural solemnity of her lips, to counteract the mischievous merriment of her eyes. 174 GLENCAIRN. As lookers-on proverbially see more than players, Kate, in lier half day's visit, sees more of Griffiths' growing attachment than Luli herself. Nor is Kate alone in her perception. Zora has arrived at the same conclusion already. The very servants at the Chalet, the housemaid who waits at dinner, the cook whose scullery-window commands a view of the garden, opine confi- dently of Mr. Griffiths that " he's after our young lady," and wonder "when it will come off ?" Kate does not go so far as this latter speculation. She only observes to Zora in a private and confidential aside, " A case there, eh ? Hard hit, evidently — on one side." " On one side, yes," agrees Zora. " He's old, isn't he ?" continues Kate, GLENCAIRN. 175 with a meditative air of some distaste. ^' Still, ' better to be an old man's darling/ you know. Not that it's a game 1 should ever care to play !" " I do not fancy Luli would care to play it either," replied Zora, adding thought- fully, " or rather, I don't think she sees that it's a part she is likely to have the chance of playing." " Luli was always as innocent as a babe unborn," says Kate, half scornfully, half affectionately. **But she'll have to see that soon, unless like a little goose she treats him too much in a paternal light and so scares him off. I don't suppose," adds Kate, through whose careless levity break gleams of sterling sense and womanly heart sometimes, " she'll ever be as fond of anybody as she was of poor Duke. I don't 176 GLENCAIRN. know that I should particularly like to see her caring for anybody else in that devoted way." " No," agrees Zora, in a subdued voice, trying not to let Kate see how she winces under the allusion. *' But still it would be a very good thing," Kate continues, "for her to settle down comfortably with some nice, good fellow. She is too affectionate and amiable not to have some love left to give, although it mayn't be the best love. And half a loaf is better than no bread, and recliauffees affections are better than none ; and though a young man wouldn't think so, an old man might !" " Mr. Griffiths is not so very old though, observes Zora. *' Just about the age that men get hard GLENCAIEN. 177 hit," says Kate, with an air of experience. *' Look there !" nodding towards the two unconscious subjects of their discussion who are standing on the verandah, the gentleman assiduously picking up the shawl which is dropping off the young lady's shoulders, while she turns her grace- ful little head with a sweet but half care- less expression of thanks. "It is nice for you to have your young friends with you, isn't it?" he observes. " It must be dull and lonely for you to be left so much to yourself when Glencairn is " It is lonely, but not dull. And if it were, he could not change his ways," she answers, gently. "It would trouble him if he thought I felt dull alone, but he could not be tied to this cottage, you know. VOL. III. N 178 GLENCATRN. And indeed I am never, never really lone- ly," slie adds, eagerly, fearful lest her words should seem to imply a complaint. "I am accustomed to be alone ; 1 like it ; I think I inherit the taste from him." " If you do, it is the only thing you re- semble him in. I never saw a father and daughter more unlike !" he says, sincerely. He has never seen Luli in those rare and always terrible moments when the shadow of her father's spirit darkens her face. " And yet you always seem so happy to- gether," he adds, half-questioningly, look- ing at her with a sort of yearning, as if looking into a paradise whose gate might by a bare possibility open to him if he dared to try ifc, but which he deemed too unattainable to dare. " We do not seem ; we are,^^ she answers, GLENCAIRN. 179 with a dreamy smile, but a look of pain and memory in her eyes that harmonizes ill with the word ''happy." **I do not know who could fail to be happy with you !" he observes. '' That's because you don't know me," she responds frankly and unsuspiciously ; " if I were your daughter, you would know how tiresome I can be !" '' Good gracious," whispers Kate to Zora, **the little goose is actually talking about being his daughter !" During the afternoon Kate is escorted out by the rest of the party on a tour of inspection of the premises. The Chalet cannot boast of extensive grounds, and a very few minutes suffice for the exhaustion of all objects of interest in the garden and the yard. There are the fowls, clucking and n2 180 GLEN CAIRN. pecking at the corn Luli scatters for them as they flutter round her feet. One of them has laid an egg, and is evidently boasting of her achievement among her fellows with loud, exultant clackings. She barely con- sents to interrupt her noisy triumph to peck up a beakful of barley, and nearly chokes herself in her hurry to resume her boasting. Another is imprisoned in a wicker dungeon for her sins, which take the shape of a brood of little yellow chickens, like fluffy lumps of down, who cause their parent extreme anguish by straying near the kitchen door, where the cat sleeps in the sun. Then there is the pony to be exhibited, and the docility with which he eats a carrot from Lull's hand to be ad- mired ; and then a bone is to be taken to the dog, who is chained up in his kennel, GLENCAIRN. 181 and from whom Zora keeps a safe distance, while he goes through his performances of "begging," and *' giving the paw." After these domestic duties have been gone through, the girls, with Mr. GriiB&ths of course as attendant cavalier, resort to the hayfield near at hand, which although private property, is generously left open, and used alike as a short cut and a loung- ing place by the neighbourhood in general. The haymakers are at work, their bright scythes glisten in the sun, and the soft hissing sound with which they sweep the swathes of grass mingles with the grass- hopper's sharp treble chirrup. The men look warm and thirsty, and stop work very often to mop their brows with the bright- coloured bandanas fashionable among the class. Near the hedge lies a heap of coats 182 GLENCAIRN. and an empty beer-can, watched by a brindled mongrel, wbo is stretclied out, looking fast asleep in the sun, but opens one eye upon the intruders as they pass. A lark is soaring up out of sight *'in the infinite blue," and his joyous song floats down fainter and fainter to their ears ; but oddly enough nobody even attempts to quote Shelley. It is possible that Martin Griffiths, in his blinded and barbaric life of roving, remote from civilization and litera- ture, may never have heard of the " Ode." " How I wish it was always Summer 1" exclaims Kate, reclining comfortably on a heap of hay, with her hands clasped behind her head, and her hat pushed down over her face, so as to hide it as far as the tip of her nose. " On Summer days like this I think one lives exactly twice one's natural daily amount of life 1" GLENCAIEX. 183 " I do not like Summer," says Zora. pen- sively ; "it fills one with discontent." "Why?" inquires Griffiths surprised; " are not the sun and the sky and the green fields beautiful ?" " Too beautiful," she answers, looking down, and tossing the loose, long, half-dried grass about as she buries her hands in it. "I think there is nothing that makes one feel the incompleteness of life so much as the beauty of Summer," observes Luli. " It fills one with such a longing to be like that lark. Only," she adds, as the song sounds clearer and clearer, "he is coming down again !" " I have not the least desire to be Hke that lark/' asserts Kate decisively, from the depths of the crown of her hat. " I don't want to be anything but what 1 am." 184 GLENCAIRN. " That is no great wonder, Katie," says Lull, with an affectionate smile. "How fresh and good the new hay smells !" she adds, taking up a great armful of it, and bending her face over it, and letting it shower and straggle down upon her lap. " To think that I have to go back and dance in a stifling gas-lit ball-room all to- night !" says Kate, stretching her arms out lazily, and shaking her hat back into its place. '* Luli, I must be going soon ! and I haven't seen your Pater ! I wanted to see him especially. You know what a pet he is of mine ! What a shame of him to go off in this way !" " It's just his old way," observes Griffiths narratively. " I remember when we were prospecting in New Mexico, we and a handful of other fellows, how he walked GLENCAIRN. 185 out of the camp one night without a word to any of us, just took up his pistol and pulled his hat over his brows, and went off. We thought he would be back to supper, but he never came. We never heard of him for days till one evening I was riding home late, dead beat and tired and hungry, and I saw a curl of smoke, and gave a halloo — which was imprudent of me, I grant, as I was one man alone. Well, it was our missing man, and glad enough I was to fall in with him, especially as he'd got a very good supper of his own shoot- ing. So next day we went back to the camp together ; but where he had been or what took him away nobody ever learnt from that day to this." " He must be an exciting inmate for a quiet household," remarks Kate. '' And, 186 GLENCAIEN. especially as his return is so indefinite, / can't wait for it." Glencairn's wandering mood however is but of brief duration tbis time. Dinner has only been kept waiting about a quarter of an bour, partly on tbe cbance of bis return, partly because Miss Craven has been " seen off " at tbe station by tbe rest of tbe party, and tbe train being a few minutes late bas delayed tbem, wben Glen- cairn pusbes tbe gate open and comes down tbe gravel-walk. He is not at all surprised to find tbe one visitor, Martin Griffiths, there ; he is non- chalantly surprised and interested to hear of Kate's visit and of her regrets at depart- ing without seeing him. He is kissed and welcomed, — gladly, but without any of the effusive demonstration of relieved anxiety, GLENCAIEN. 187 — by Lull; and would evidently be as- tonished and displeased if it appeared that his absence had been considered at all strange. There is no fear of Zora's utter- ing any remarks or inquiries. She is always silent and constrained before Glencairn. Even Martin Griffiths notices that the rela- tions between these two, both as host and guest, and as a father and his daughter's favourite friend, are singularly distant ; on his side there is such rigid formality, on hers such perpetual restraint, and occa- sionally so strange an air of nervousness, even sometimes of repulsion and trepida- tion. Lull thinks nothing of this ; she is ac- customed to hear people declare they stand in awe of her father and ask sotto voce if he is not "rather odd?" or " peculiar ?" and it rather amuses her than otherwise. 188 GLENOAIRN. They have a moderately lively dinner, though the ball of conversation does not roll too rapidly, and it occurs to most of them that it is a pity Kate is gone — bright Kate who knows no fear nor shyness of man, woman, or child, and who likes Glen- cairn and " chaffs " him as very few of his acquaintances or friends have ever ventur- ed to do. Martin Griffiths, who frequently is blundering enough to speak his mind, ventures further than most people when he observes in the course of the after- dinner tete-a-tete J "I was quite surprised, old fellow, to find you had gone off on one of your wan- derings when I came to-day. I fancied you had left your old habits behind with the old life in another hemisphere." GLENCAIEX. 189 " And / fancied I liad done surprising people," said Glencairn. " It's refreshing to find somebody who can still be surprised at me. You thought I had left my old ways behind me, did you, my dear boy? Did it ever strike you what a good world it would be if we could leave our old selves behind ?" he added, meditatively looking at the wine in his glass against the light. " It seems to me that I have left my old self, the boy I used to be before I first left England, a long, long way behind," said Griffiths. ''But I never was such a self as you used to be," replied Glencairn, with his half sad, half bitter smile. " You were always the same soul and the same heart, Martin — one soul in your body through all your life. Now it seems to me sometimes that 190 GLENOAIEN. two souls possess my body in turn, two separate and distinct souls, yet each retaining memory of the other's deeds. Query — is one responsible for the other ? What should you say ?" " Yes," said Griffiths, simply and straight- forwardly as was his nature. " Your two souls are only your conflicting impulses. You were always a creature of moods." *' Of such moods as I used to walk down on the plains," interposed Glencairn; " such moods as I walked down to-day. Yes, I am a prey to them still — worse, worse than ever ! They are like a legion of devils trying to seize upon me. If I yielded — but I never yield. I trample them down. As it is, when they are on me, I feel scarcely responsible for myself. I go far away — alone — and wrestle with GLENCAIRN. 191 them. All I can do is to be alone, and to walk them down. Faces — voices — people — drive me mad!" '^ And does this often happen ?" asked Griffiths, with a look of grave sympathy and an unconscious glance towards the garden where the two girls walked. Glencairn answered the look as well as the words. " Not often. I never let the shadow of these moods fall upon the child if I can help it. You are thinking, Martin, that I am but a rough, grim guardian to be her only companion ?" he added, fixing his friend with his deep keen eyes. Martin Griffiths, too truthful to answer, ''No," too honest to deny his thought, said only, looking with a sort of half envious, half pitying tenderness at the girlish figure crossing the walk in the twilight, 1 92 GLENCAIRN. *• She loves you." As tie walked liome that night GrijB&ths found himself earnestly reflecting upon Luli's life with that strange but devoted father of hers, and wondering whether he himself was a doting fool to let this girl's face haunt him by night and day, as a woman's face never — save once for a brief dream-time long years ago — had haunted him before. If this were an entirely hope- less infatuation, would it not be best, now that it seemed too strong to be conquered, to retreat before it ? to take a last look at that fair face and turn from it for ever — leave it far behind, never to be seen except in dreams again? Yes, if this were a hopeless infatuation, that would be the only course. But was it hopeless ? Dearly as she loved her father, her life, motherless GLENCAIEN. 193 and sisterless, could not be other than a lonely and to some extent a sad one. There might be place in it for new hopes and new interests, although it was evident that one fairest hope already had been destroyed. He could never bid that one flower of youth and early romance bloom again, he knew. He judged Luli rightly enough, rather by instinct than by reason, to be assured that, whatever her past was, it was a past no future could efface or eclipse. He was not poetic nor imaginative ; he had always despised what he called sentiment ; and until now he had scarcely known how much unspoken romance lay latent in his heart. But had he devoted his life to psychology and to the weaving of human emotions and passions into metre and VOL. in. o 194 GLENCAIEN. melody, he could not have perceived more clearly that the deepest depths of this girl's nature had already been fathomed ; and that there was one stilled chord of her heart which would answer to no living touch. Still she was so young and gentle, she might learn to know a second love. It might be reserved for some man's blessing to be privileged to breathe an Indian Summer of second sunshine into her life. "Why should he not be that man ? What was he, grizzled and bronzed and battle- worn, that he should expect to gather to his own a fresh young heart with all the dew and bloom still on it ? Although the dew of a first early love had been shaken off it, he would be blest enough if he could win that heart now, true and pure as it must ever be. And he might win it surely. No GLENCAIRN. 195 man could ever love her better than he would do. And although no human tender- ness could surround her with more care- ful cherishing than did her father's, yet Glencairn was, as he had owned, but "a rough, grim guardian to be her only com- panion." And how often she was left solitary, companionless, alone ! Could he but gain her affections, Griffiths thought to himself, he would study her every taste and fancy, make her life not only safe and sheltered, but bright and sunny ; not content with only guarding her from care, he would give her all the pleas- ures that seemed suitable to her youth and beauty. But the time had not come yet to startle her by any advance, he knew. The path must be trodden slowly and gradually ; the goal approached by cautious 2 196 GLENOAIRN. degrees. Pacing up and down in tlie June moonlight, forgetful of the passing hours, he resolved that there must be hope for him, if he could only bide his time. 197 CHAPTER XXXII. " Alas, we two ! ' We two,' thou sayst ; Aye, one thou wast with me That once of old. Bat shall God lift To endless unity The soul whose likeness with thy soul Was but its love for thee?" ROSSETTI. rpHE birds are twittering from tlie fir- -■- trees; the thrush's trill mingles with the distant whistle of the engine as the morning train whirls on its way. Be- tween these sharper, shriller sounds the wind bears the low rumble of the hay- carts as they roll heavily to and from the field. There is a fresh sweet smell of hay everywhere, for everywhere the grass has 198 GLENOAIRN. been cut and flung in pleasant-scented heaps, from tlie broad meadows of fclie lord of the manor to the little lawn of the Chalet. The windows leading into the green ver- andah are flung open ; the dew is glittering still like a shower of diamonds on the white blossoms of the syringa that climbs round the window-frame; the early sun glints into the room and on to the snowy-clothed table where breakfast is laid, and where the servant is laying down the letters the postman has just brought. A fragrant steam curls up from the sil- ver spout of the tall coffee-pot ; the covered dishes look temptingly suggestive ; and the crisp hot toast is beautifully brown ; (woe would betide the cook should it be burnt I and equally would the master's wrath de- GLENCAIEN. 199 scend upon lier head should it look sickly and pale). The master is the first in the field, the only member of the little company present at the roll-call as yet. He is not regarding the door or the clock impatiently, nor the covered table sanguinely ; but eyeing with suspicious eye the large thick letter which the servant has laid by Lull's plate. He knows it is not anything very alarming; but still to him its appearance is decidedly unwelcome. It is about the size of a pho- tograph, the shape of a photograph. It is directed to Luli in the handwriting of Duke Mayburne's mother, an old invalid lady who never comes to London, and whom Luli never sees now (he takes care of that), but with whom she still keeps up an occasional correspondence. He re- 200 GLEKCAIEN. collects now that in the old lady's last letter some time ago there had been some allusion to having more copies struck off of the only good photograph existing of her poor boy. This then no doubt is the portrait. He has only time to come to this con- clusion, to turn it over and frown at its inopportune arrival, when feminine dresses rustle across the passage, and Luli and Zora come into the room. He has put down the letter in its place, and taken up the Times as they enter. Zora smiles her usual timid good morn- ing ; her anxious distant courtesy to Glen- cairn has always something fearful and propitiating about it, as his manner to her is stonily "ceremonious and stiffly polite. ''How are you, child?" he inquires of GLENCAIRN. 201 Luli, with his usual matutinal look of keen and anxious inquiry, to ascertain if it is to be one of her *' well days" or " ill days." "Perfectly well to-day, dear," she an- swers with a reassuring grateful smile, and lifts her fair face to his grizzled mous- tache for a good-morning kiss. As she turns to the breakfast table she glances down at the letter that lies await- ing her, and on the instant her pale cheek blanches whiter still. For just one mo- ment her sensitive lips quiver and her breath comes short. Then she is mistress of herself again. Quite composedly she takes her seat, and quietly, but not secret- ly, slips the packet into her lap, knowing well that no one will question her as to why she does not open it, but unable to endure to see it lying there. She smiles 202 GLENCAIRiSr. calmly, if with absent eyes, to her father and to Zora, and begins to pour out the coffee with careful steadiness. The morning newspaper is unfolded, and Glencairn reads scraps aloud, and Luli dutifully expresses interest in the divers facts he announces, comments on the Absconding of a Fraudulent Banker, and listens with an appearance of attention to something — she really knows not what — about Pennsylvanian railways. She stirs her coffee and breaks up a piece of toast in her plate, but touches nothing herself, although she pours milk into the saucer and sets it down for the cat ; and flings crumbs on to the verandah for the sparrows, who however keep warily far off, well knowing that Puss, their enemy, sits curled up, with her tail round her toes, GLENCAIEN. 203 in the shadow of the window curtain. But after breakfast Luli suddenly van- ishes from the scene, without inviting Zora to follow her ; and Glencairn's attentive ear informs him that she has crossed the li- brary into the drawing-room. Leaving Zora pretending to be absorbed in the Times which he has laid down — and to which she appears now devoted because such a pretence alike shields her from meeting his eyes, and absolves her from holding any conversation with him — Glen- cairn follows Luli. A pair of heavy curtains drawn together across an arch form the portiere that divides the library from the drawing-room. Standing silently in the library, he listens for a moment to hear if any sobs or signs of hysterics are audible ; for he knows his :204 GLENCAIRN. daughter just well enough to be aware that her composure does not mean in- difference, and that she is sometimes calmest when most deeply moved — for a while, until the reaction comes. Hearing no sound, he softly parts the heavy, noise- less curtains a finger's width and looks between them quietly. No ! she is not weeping ; she is not faint- ing; she evidently needs no soothing nor support. She sits there with the picture in her hand, gazing on it as if entranced, still as a statue; and her face is a revelation to the watcher ! A lovelier crimson than ever of old has suffused her wan, pale cheeks ; a mist akin to tears, but too soft and rap- turous for tears, mellows the burning brightness of her large, intense, and fever- GLENGAIKN. 205 ishly piercing eyes. Her lips are apart, and she seems scarcely to breathe, and all her fair face is flushed and hallowed by the ineffable shadow and glory of a love that has no more to say to earth — a measureless love overflowing the limits of Life, a divine love strong as Death. " In the infinite spirit is room For the pulse of an infinite pain." But the potentiality of the soul is not infinite for only pain. It is as infinite for endurance, and for love, love that is the body's weakness and the spirit's strength. The look upon Luli's face revealed to Glencairn, like a flash of lightning across the darkness, a truth to which he had been blind, and yet did not reveal the whole truth to his self -sealed eyes. He saw that this was not only memory, but love still ; 206 GLENOAIRN. he did not see that it was a love that would last while memory lasted — a memory that would endure during her life, and that might probably not have long to endure. For Lull's eyes, spiritual always, wore so divine a look now — it seemed as though the soul were so far stronger than the body that it was but tarrying for a day before it spread its eternal wings — a captive too strong for the frail bars of Life to prison in. Presently her lips moved ; she breathed a whisper so softly than even in the utter silence her voice scarcely reached the lis- tener's ears. " So long ago, my darling ! " she mur- mured. " How long it seems to me ! And yet — but yesterday ! Is it long to you ? Time is short — and there is all Eternity — for us ! for you and me, my love !" GLENCAIRX. 207 Glencairn drew back, and drove bis nails into the palms of his hands as he stood, pale and stern, alone. After a moment he stepped forward and pulled aside the cur- tains with a rough and resolute hand, and with a look as if he were walking up to the muzzles of levelled guns, he strode across the room to Lull's side. She started, and her colour changed, but she looked up at him serenely with those dreamy, far-away eyes that gazed beyond his face. He bent over her and looked at the portrait, resting his arm upon her shoulder. So together they looked on the silent shadow of that beautiful face that should never smile its bright living smile on them again, that was marble still and stern, yet retaining something of awful reminiscence of its living beauty even in 208 GLENCAIJaN. the stony fixity of death, when they last looked upon it with the burning gaze of agony too deep for tears. So like ! so like the dead ! the large clear eyes seerned to smile with the old winning frankness. Sure- ly those firm curved mobile lips would part to speak ! surely the straying curls of hair over the broad brow would wave as they used to do when he half impatiently tossed them back ! "It is like," Glencairn said, in deep, harsh, but carefully composed tones. " But put it away, Luli. Do not brood upon the past. Let it lie." There was a betrayal of passion and earnestness, however suppressed, in the tone with which he uttered the last words, that was unusual to him. Luli only an- swered him by a look of affection and a GLENCAIEN. 209 sad half-smile, that just curved her lips, and did not reach her eyes. Then she rose and slipped her hands through his arm and clung there trustingly ; and so they left the room together, and returned to Zora, who disguised with her usual skill the thrill of pain, and almost of horror, that always shot through her when she wit- nessed any demonstrations of affection be- tween the father and daughter who were so closely united in heart, so far apart in soul. The two girls were growing more and more attached to each other, partly because they were each of loving and loveable na- tures, partly on account of the secret and mysterious sympathy which was working unknown to draw them near together. They had hitherto mutually avoided any allusion to the tragedy which had so terri- VOL. III. P 210 GLENOAIRN. bly cut short their pleasant days at Como ; indeed they had never mentioned Duke Mayburne at all, although the thought of him was, especially now that they were together, always uppermost in both their hearts. Perhaps it was this secret sym- pathy, which in Lull's heart at least was an occult instinct uncomprehended by her- self, or perhaps the fact that her spirit was stirred and excited by the receipt of the portrait, that led her now to break through the ice of their mutual reserve, and inspired her with an irresistible impulse to show to Zora the photograph she had received that morning. Zora had guessed what it was long before Lull put it into her hand, although Lull's few half-faltering words had named no name ; and Zora shrank away, her breast GLENCAIRN. 211 heaved, and an imperceptible shudder chilled and thrilled her, as she forced herself reluctantly to take the portrait in her hand and turn her eyes upon it. " Do you think it is like?" murmured Luli, softly, with an irrepressible yearning and craving tenderness betraying itself in her tones. Zora looked on the likeness of the man who lay in his far-off grave, whom her rash, erring love had unwittingly caused to be so stricken down in his prime, whom she had loved with the first warm up- breaking of the passion of her heart, nay, more ! for whom this day, this hour, her heart throbbed passionately still ! Al- though her eyes were bent down upon it, she felt that Lull's eyes were fixed upon her. Her lips quivered, and p2 212 GLENCAIRN. .the delicate faint rose tint faded and left her cheeks ashy white. The hand in which she held the portrait trembled, and tears welled up and brimmed fast over the long black eyelashes. Luli saw these signs, and a light broke then upon her. She laid her hand upon Zora's gently, and bent closer to her, and the force of mag- netism, irresistible, unexplained, compelled Zora, reluctant as she was, and shrinking and trembling, to lift her tearful eyes and meet Lull's gaze. Both were silent, only their eyes searched each other s depths, Zora's half fearfully, terrifiedly, yet earnestly, Lull's with a pure, piercing, yet tender scrutiny, that had nothing to conceal nor fear. The one look slowly grew from a search to a certainty, and in its solemn silence said, " You loved GLENCAIEN. 213 him, tlien ?" The other was the look of a suppliant, confessing but concealing still, and in its mute appeal said " Forgive me !" Luli drew Zora to her with an infinite gentleness, and kissed her with a solemn tenderness that would have beseemed an eternal farewell, but that was given as the pledge of a never-to-be-worded sympathy, the seal upon a never-to-be-broken bond. Zora could not take it as an absolution ; for she knew too well that Luli had not the most distant dream of what she had to forgive. Bursting into passionate tears, Zora threw herself down at Luli's knees, and clung to her, and sobbed over her and wept upon her bosom, and yet dared not return her soothing kisses. The weak and stormy heart breaking beneath its secret 214 GLENOAIRN. and its remorse, beat throb for throb against the heart too pure to suspect, too guileless to conceal. '* Dear Zora, dearest Zora!" whispered Lulfs soft voice, " I had not a dream of this before ! But you will be all the dearer to me now." ''Now !" Luli repeated dreamily, as if murmuring to herself. *' Could I have said so if he had been living? No, I could not then ! Earth is earth. Even Love is not perfect here !" Zora only sobbed in answer. Luli had no tears to shed. She soothed and com- forted Zora, unsuspicious of the sorrow she was soothing, and rocked her on her breast like a child until she had caressed her into calm. But across her own far-off yearning eyes there came no mist ; they looked far GLENCAIEN. 215 and clear away to heaven tlirougli no blinding veil of tears. When Zora was calmer, they both in resistless love and memory were drawn to bend their eyes again on the unchanged face whose life-like shadow the sun had preserved for them, so like, so "unlike evermore !" ** He was young — to die — and to die — so r said Luli, in the suppressed tone of deep emotion. And there came then over her face the implacable look that only one thought could ever bring upon those soft, fair features. Putting her lips close to the picture, she whispered,' in a strange, stern whisper, " How shall we ever know, love ? They say the * sprites of injured men shriek up- ward from the sod !' But you are silent. 216 GLENCAIRN. If you would but give us a sign ! If you would reveal it to me ! Shall I never know — until vou tell me in Heaven !" mj She was silent, and her breath came short and gasping, and Zora saw how convulsively she trembled. Zora, white with horror, terror, and pain, looked on and endured. Under the slighter ordeal she had broken down and sobbed and wept. Under this too terrible strain she rose strong in the defiance of utter desperation, with firmly closed lips, with eyes from which every betraying expression had fled. Guarding the hideous secret she was bound to keep with more than determination, with more than honour, with the jealous fury and terror of a lioness shielding from the hunter the cave where the helpless cubs are lying, she braced her GLENCAIRN. 217 every nerve up to the strain for Lull's sake. Her eyes did not quail as she turned them upon Lull's face ; her fingers did not tremble as she took the portrait resolutely away from her ; her voice did not quiver as she said, with desperately compelled firmness — " Put it away. Do not look any^ more. You must not agitate yourself." Lull controlled her emotion, and passed her hand over her eyes with a sigh. " I will take it up to my room," she said, after a pause. '' I keep all — those things —there !" Zora, herself the more sorely agitated from the imperative necessity of suppres- sion, anxious to be alone and free, yet unwilling to leave Lull unwatched and uncared for, followed Lull to her room. 218 GLENCAIRN. There Lull unlocked a drawer, and laid the portrait tenderly away amid other treasured relics — the presents he had given her, the letters he had written her. Zora, looking over her shoulder, noticed that, at the back of this drawer, was a square cedar-wood box. As Luli was about to close the drawer, her eyes, too, fixed on this. She paused, holding the drawer half open, some irresistible magnetism seeming to hold her gaze riveted there, to paralyse her eye from turning away. As if she were impelled by some external force, her hand slowly moved towards it ; yet she shuddered as her fingers rested on the lid. " What is it you keep there ?" asked Zora, shrinking away, with a presentiment that told her what it was before Luli, still as if rather obeying some power than GLENCAIEX. 219' her own volition, slowly lifted the lid. Zora covered her face with her hands. " Don't — don't touch it, I^uli !" she almost shrieked. '' Shut it up ! How can you bear to look at it ?" " It would be strange if I could not bear to look at that. I have borne worse." She looked at Zora, and added, with the ghost of a smile — "Why do you shrink away, Zora ? It is not loaded ; it is harmless now. It is the only evidence. Sometimes I think it is all there ever will be. And it is silent. It tells no tales." Standing there, looking down upon the weapon that once had been pointed with aim too sure at the life she loved, Lull gazed back into the past, and in her mind's eye saw the last look of his living face again — saw him as he stood on the thres- "220 GLENCAIRN. hold of the half -lit marble hall — heard his last good night. The memory was too real — too vivid ! It seemed that her arms clung still round his neck in that last fond and smiling good night ; she felt his last kiss on her lips again. She put up her hands to hide her eyes, as if to shut the too clear memory out. " Oh, it was not by his own hand he died !" she murmured suddenly, after a minute's silence, with suppressed passion that shook all her frame. " Not his ; not his. I know it — I feel it in my heart. What hand was it then ?" She lowered her hands, and let her fin- gers rest quiveringly, recoilingly, yet as if rooted by some restless fascination, on the clouded steel barrel. She fixed her eyes upon the weapon with a wild and intense GLENCAIEN. 221 searching, as if all the forces of her soul were wasted and outpoured in that one pas- sionate, craving, terrible questioning, ''What hand was it?" Zora shuddered and drew back. Her over-wrought nerves and superstitious fancy filled her with strange horror. It seemed to her as if that burning magnetic gaze of Luli's must force some supernatural re- vealing of the truth. " Come away, Luli ! come downstairs f lock that drawer and leave it !" she cried vehemently. "I am very wrong — I am wicked — to let you look — to let you try your strength like this. If you have no mercy on yourself, you will kill me if you will not let those memories rest ! 1 can- not bear them !" Luli yielded instantly, but with a sort 222 GLENCATUN. of astonishment in her eyes. It seemed so strange to her that they who had borne that fiery trial should not be able to bear the memory of it. " Forgive me, Zora dear," she whispered softly ; " I am so grieved if I have caused you pain ! I would not hurt you — you of all the world, now 1" BOOK Till. IN SIGHT OF LAND. 225 CHAPTER XXXIII. " A little while for scheming Love's unperfected schemes ; A little while for golden dreams, Then no more any dreaming ! " A little time for speaking Things sweet to say and hear ; A time to seek and find thee near ; Then no more any seeking !" Marston. fTlHE i^e-opening of old wounds caused by tlie contemplation of those sad souve- nirs, and by her interview with Zora and the new light thrown on Zora's interest in the tragedy that she now saw touched them mutually, proved too much for Luli. Her strength had been over-taxed, and VOL. III. Q 226 GLENCAIEN. broke down suddenly, as Zora had feared, so that she was obliged to return to her room and remain there all day. " You should not let her excite herself," Glencairn said sternly to Zora, when just before luncheon he made his — to Zora most unwelcome — appearance in his daughter's room. ''It was not Zora's fault," said Luli. ^' She is almost as much a tyrant as you are," she added, forcing a smile. He bent over her and lifted her hand, which was ice-cold and damp and lay trem- bling in his ; he felt her fluttering pulse, and looked anxiously on the face that flushed and paled by turns,, and the irregu- larly heaving breast. . " You must not allow yourself to be up- set; you ought to know how bad it is for GLENCAIRN. 227 you," he said, with something stern and despotic even in his affection. "If you will not take proper care of yourself, I shall have to guard you more strictly still from all possible renewals of old associa- tions." "It is not that — it is not that," she pleaded eagerly, her eyes filling with tears. ^' I have been so well lately. I can't imagine why I feel ill to-day. But indeed, indeed, you must not be anxious, dearest father ! I shall be quite well soon." When Martin Grijfiths, whose visits had now become like a regular daily part of the domestic machinery of the villa, paid his usual visit, he looked sorely disappointed to find that Luli was not visible. The disappointment on his face was curiously ill-matched by the involuntary expression of q2 228 GLENCAIRN. relief and satisfaction tliat brightened up Zora's countenance as lie entered the din- ing-room. She had been scheming how to escape a tete-a-tete meal with Glencairn ; and Luli had unconsciously done her best to frustrate these schemes by unselfishly in- sisting that Zora should go down to luncheon without her. Mr. Griffiths would have felt flattered if he had taken any heed of Zora's pleased smile of welcome ; but Zora was to him so simply regarded as an appendage, albeit a pretty and pleasing appendage, to Luli, that he did not waste his time in studying the expression of her face, which he would probably only have done to its misinterpre- tation. The one that ever puzzled him in Zora, and fixed his attention on her, was her evident uneasiness under Glencairn's GLENCAIRN. 229 eye. He sometimes put it down to shy- ness ; but then with every other person she had that sweet self-possession which is the very reverse of shyness. All that day he waited in vain for a glimpse of Luli. The next day, true as the needle to the pole, and punctual as clock- work to his usual hour, he came again, and she had rallied and was much better, indeed declared herself quite well, and announced her intention of coming down to dinner. She knew her father liked to see her prettily dressed ; and she put on a white dress, and clasped her best jet ornaments round her neck and wrists, and round the coiled coronet of her hair — or rather Zora clasped them for her, and arranged her dress, and brushed and braided the long light shining tresses, that, though they 230 GLENOAIRN. were not as luxuriant as of old, were still too heavy and abundant for their owner s weak little hands to manipulate that day. So they got through the toilette process slowly, with intervals of rest, Luli laughing at her own inability to make more rapid progress, and Zora endeavouring to join iu the laughter in a natural and sanguine manner, and succeeding extremely well ; and then they went down to the drawing- room, where they were eagerly watched and waited for; and where, when Luli entered, pale and tall and lovely in her drooping grace, — like a lily beaten by the wind, and bending its dew-laden chalice before the gust, — Glencairn and Griffiths greeted her with glad smiles, and she was responsively gay; and a general jubilate was sung over her re-appearance down- stairs. GLEKCAIEN. 231 Zora's position as silent looker-on was a painful one. She saw too mucli and too clearly for her own peace ; and her sympa- thetic heart ached for others. She dis- cerned the unspoken hopes that Glencairn and his friend were cherishing ; she knew how vain thev were. Her old dread of Glencairn endured, so that she dared not for her life have dropped a hint of warning to him not to hope too much ; and through all her fear and aversion there was woven in a woof of reluctant compassion now, as she noted his sanguine dwelling on every shade of colour in his daughter's face, every sparkle in his daughter's eye. She knew that Luli's brave and loyal heart kept her calm and cheerful before her father ; she knew too that Luli's soul was with her lost love, not drooping in 232 GLENCAIBN. hopeless regret over the tomb, but aspiring in lofty, yet life-consuming, hope, to a world beyond the grave. And she saw also, with a shrinking fear and pain, that in Luli's dreaming, imaginative nature, wherein her father's superstitious spirit was reflected, softened, exalted, and puri- fied, there lurked always a wonder that no sign was given her towards the revealing of that one mystery, that between her soul and the soul she loved no spark of com- munion flashed from world to world. Al- ways the unsatisfied cry of LuFs heart was, " Is there never a chink in the world above Where they listen for words from below ?" and always there heaved and stirred fever- ishly restless there, the longing to hnow^ the dream that often-times rose to a con- GLENCAIRN. 233 viction that some day she should know, by whose hand it was that he died. Zora was behind the scenes too as to Luli's health; she knew with what a daily heroic effort Luli kept up her broken strength ; she knew how long the pretty, simple toilette, that looked so easy and natural, took to accomplish, — long, not through the vanity, but through the weak- ness of the wearer; and she who saw, sorrowed for those who did not see, or who seeing shut their eyes. Glencairn and Griffiths had never yet uttered a word touching on the latter s growing absorption in Luli, but tacitly and mutually they guessed each at the other's feelings; and Griffiths knew that his friend was not likely to run counter to his wishes. In fact Glencairn watched 234 GLENCAIRN. the development of this attachment witli decided favour and satisfaction. He did not know whether Luli responded to it, or even perceived it as yet ; but he considered there was plenty of time for things to drift gradually and slowly towards the climax that he had now begun to acknowledge to himself he desired. He had forgotten one circumstance, which, if he had remembered it from the first, would have made him put the breadth of the sea at once between Martin Griffiths and Luli. But it had passed out of his mind ; and he saw no obstacle to his darling's living to the dawn of new life, new hope, new happiness — even if never new love. He took no pains to conceal his devoted anxiety about her from Griffiths ; indeed he had uncon- sciously fallen lately into the habit of GLENCAIRN. 235^ talking almost as if this anxiety were a mutual one. '' This is my day for the City," he ob- served. *' I should not leave Luli if I thought she was not all right ; but I have not seen her seem so well for a longtime." He added after a moment's silence, thoughtfully, " I had a queer dream last night, old fellow. I saw what I shall never see again. It seemed to me an omen of some change." ''A good one, let us hope. Bat do you believe in dreams ?" " They mean something. People do not all possess that power which enables spirits to communicate with them. You know that it is not everyone to whom an apparition can manifest itself. But in dreams there is no one on earth who may :236 GLENOAIRN. not receive a sign. Sleep opens the gate iio all tliat only some can pass in waking hours. This dream of mine was for good, I think. It seemed to promise safety and rest for my child. If it bodes ill to any- one, it can only be to me. That is the interpretation I place upon it at least. Dreams don't always write their message very legibly ! Anyhow, to-day *My bosom's lord sits lightly on his throne.' And if the railway smashes me up," he continued carelessly, but with an under-current of earnest meaning, "you'll take care of Luli?" " I would ! Trust me !" replied Martin Griffiths with all his heart. " But I hope," he added after a moment's pause, " that it won't be a railway smash that will give me the privilege of taking care of her." GLENCAIRN. 237 He hesitated a few moments more, as if reflecting, and then began again abruptly, as if rushing into a breach before his im- pulse had time to cool, " Look here, Glencairn ! you and I are old friends. Tell me, do you think that any other man — I mean, that any man now, will ever have a chance with her ?" " I can't say. I know no more than you. But if I were the man in such a case, I'd try!" '* But not — not suddenly ? Not too soon?" **No," answered Glencairn thoughtfully; " I suppose not. It would be useless ; perhaps worse than useless. Still women are queer creatures ; a man can't under- stand them. Each man had better judge for himself." :23 8 GLENCAIRN. " I judge," said Griffiths, tentatively, ^' that he had better bide his time ?" Glencairn nodded; and followed this affirmative sign after a brief pause by say- ing, with one of his rare expansions of confidence, " Look, Martin, if I could see her safe in harbour, I'd drift on my course, be it long or short, with a light heart — yes, and an easy conscience too, I think." Yet on those words he paused, and o»aly after a silence continued, " But she would not leave me. Do you know, Martin, I think she would not leave me. One can't be sure ; but she knows well she is all that's left to me." " She would not be what she is if she could contemplate the thought of any real separation from you," said Griffiths, warm- ly uttering this truism. " But — Glencairn? you would not ?" GLENCAIRN. 239 His look of inquiry, rather appealing than hesitating, finished the sentence ; and the other answered as if it had all been uttered. '' Object to anything that was for her good ? No," he said, gravely, with a pain- ful contraction of his already care-furrowed brows. " She is growing strong, I think," he added. ^' She seems to rally sooner from these attacks than she did. You know there is nothing really seriously wrong with her health. There is no organic disease. I have consulted the best physi- cians about her. They all agree there is no reason why time and care should not restore her to perfect strength." The conversation was interrupted here by the sight of the object of it coming with 240 GLENCAIRN. Zora across tlie lawn to join the two gen- tlemen. Martin Griflfitlis looked somewhat as if he had been detected in a crime, and gazed vaguely away over Lull's head at the tall haycart which was lumbering past the gate with a group of haymakers, male, female, and infant, seated on the top thereof, and all uniting their voices in melody. " Well, you really feel all right to-day, little girl ?" said Glencairn. " I may go up to town quite easily; and you will take care of yourself ?" " My fair tyrant will see to that," said Lull, smiling at Zora. ^*I leave you in good hands, I know," continued Glencairn. *' I shall be back to-night, but don't sit up for me. Grif- fiths, youll stay to dinner with these two GLENCAIRN. 241 girls, and look after them in my absence, won't you?" '' Gladly," said Martin Griffiths, with a frank smile of pleasure. It was time for Glencairn to go, if he meant to catch his train. Luli followed him to the gate. She had on a white dress again that day, with jet ornaments and black ribbons, and with the plain jet cross on her bosom, and her simply- braided fair hair ; she had something of the look of a very fair young novice, whose brow was not yet ploughed by the weary, monotonous cares of the convent, and who had caught, from constant gazing on the shrined Madonna, a reflection of the Madonna's sweet and lofty serenity. The dog came out of his kennel as she passed, and yawned and stretched out his VOL. III. R 242 GLENCAIRN. forepaws, and while yawning, blinked up admiringly at her. Then he wagged his tail, and followed her as far as his chain would permit, and uttered a plaintive and remonstrating whine. Luli stopped, and laid her hand on the dog's head, and stood patting his rough black ears softly, while she looked up in her f ather s face, and said a good-bye word or two to him. Martin Griffiths and Zora were left upon the lawn, the former gazing after Luli with an expression somewhat resembling the dumb, faithful affection in the dog's eyes. Only the dog had perhaps most reason for his affection, inasmuch as Luli supplied him daily with bones and other delicacies. " She seems much better to-day," ob- served Martin Griffiths, with scarcely con- cealed interest, still gazing at the object of GLENCAIRN. 243 his admiration, who was within sight, though beyond hearing. " Oh, yes, she is very well to-day," assented Zora. ** Have you known her long?" asked Griffiths; and the curiosity was so frank and grave, so far removed from vulgar inquisitiveness as not to be in the least offensive. " Two or three years." Zora's presence was a sympathetic one ; and Griffiths, standing there in the sun- shine, with a fair and sympathising listener, and the present goddess of his idolatry within view, was inclined to be expansive, especially after his conversation with Glencairn. " Ah ! Two or three years ? I have r2 244 GLENCAIRN. not known her as many months. But it seems a long time, somehow." Zora looked at him comprehendingly, half sadly; he saw by her look that she fully understood his feelings, but he did not read the sad forecast and compassion in her eyes. He smiled in answer to her comprehension, not realising her com- passion. " She is so young. There is time," he said; and then, half startled to find how confidential he was involuntarily waxing, he pulled up in these confidences, and muttered inaudibly to himself, " They say there's no fool like an old fool. Maybe it's true." Meanwhile, Glencairn was saying to Luli, with an inquiring looking into her face — *' Griffiths is a good fellow, isn't he ? GLENCAIRN. 245 He'll take care of my little girl in my absence." "He is a dear old fellow," responded Luli, frankly, but indifferently, for his admiration was so silent, his affection so little demonstrated, and his manner to her so taciturn in its attention, that she did not yet perceive his feelings. " Shall we not sit up for you to-night, papa ?" " No, child, on no account. I hate to be hurried ; and I like you to keep early hours. Turn Griffiths out in good time, and go to bed early. I must be off now. Good-bye." Luli lifted her face to kiss him, and laid her hand on his shoulder in a graceful, ten- der, little parting caress. He looked down at the slender arm from which the white sleeve slipped back, and his brow clouded painfully. 246 GLENOAIEN. ^' Cbild, how frail and thin you are !" he said. " Why, there is nothing left of you ! a puff of wind would blow you away !" " It would need to be a strong puff," she said, laughingly, as he left her. She leant over the gate and looked after him; he turned and smiled, and she, smiling too, blew a light kiss from the tips of her fin- gers. Griffiths, watching, thought it must be a nice thing to be the father of such a daughter ; and Luli, with her crossed arms resting on the gate, her head turned to look after her father down the road, while the soft June breeze played about her and tried to breathe some colour into her cheek with its kisses, unconscious of Griffiths'" gaze, stood watching her father's tall figure out of sight. 247 CHAPTER XXXIV. " A little time for saying Words the heart breaks to say ; A short sharp time wherein to pray ; Then no more need for praying." Marston. |\ /TAHTIN GRIFFITHS stayed to dinner at the Chalet, according to Glen- cairn's arrangement, and had dinner with the two girls. After dessert, it being a fine warm evening, instead o£ going into the drawing-room, they sat in the veran- dah. Griffiths, unsupported by Glencairn's company, refused to light his cigar. ^' He did not care a bit about it ; indeed he would rather not," he said ; " it seemed a 248 GLENCAIRN. pity to pollute the beautiful clear air." " You are getting quite poetic/' said Luli ; " which of us have you caught that from, I wonder ?" The midsummer night was clear and mild, and well-nigh as bright as day, with the pure and mellow starshine that only June nights know in its perfection. There was not a hand's-breadth of cloud in all the sky ; the air was pure with that divine and perfect stillness that often breaks up into hunder ; but the thunder seemed far off nis night. " The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hum " whirred blindly by ; and across the twilight space between the verandah and the shrubbery there flitted the shadowy form of a bat, with its weird featherless wings, its crooked flight, whizzing through GLENCAIBN. 249 the still air, like a misshapen ghost. ''I cannot bear those creatures," said Luli, shrinkingly. " Ah," said Griffiths, — for whom (accord- ing to ordinary travellers' wont) the slight- est touch was enough to set the machinery of memory going — *' I have been where every night I used to shake two or three out of my curtains, and dislodge half a dozen from the corners of the room, and if I left the window open, one would be sure to come whizzing in and knock over my candle. And then tarantulas ! You wouldn't like, would you, when you went to put on your slipper, to find a tarantula running out of the toe of it ?" A few delightful reminiscences of bats and tarantulas soon wound Mr. Griffiths up to the point whereat he would reel off 250 GLENCAIRN. travellers' anecdotes by the half dozen. He did not relate them very artistically, and often spoilt his climaxes ; but there was a certain blundering straightforwardness about his way of narrating that gave his stories an air of reality. This evening he began with the tragic love-story of a dusky South Sea beauty of Hawaii ; then sudden- ly jumping from her grave under the tropical waves on to the deck of an Austra- lian sailing-vessel becalmed in the Pacific^ he finally landed in the United States, and related a narrow escape from being smother- ed in a snow-storm on the Sierra Nevada. The girls listened with interest, a long way behind Desdemona's in degree, cer- tainly, but still belonging to that kind. It is possible that if Griffiths would continue steadily to relate new and thrilling anec- GLEXCAIEN. 251 dotes day after day to his gentle Desdemonaj he miglit attain to something of Othello's success in time. They all agreed that truth was stranger far than fiction — " And much more inter- esting," added Zora, smoothing Mr. Griffiths' vanity with a delicate hand and a shy smile. They fell then to talking of fiction and fact, of romances in real life, of novels,. French and English, and the drama, an- cient and modern, skimming from one sub- ject to another shallowly and easily as the sea-swallow skims along the waves. Pre- sently they found themselves discussing the differing customs of engagement and mar- riage in different civilised countries. " Well, they may talk of French refine- ment and politesse,'' said Griffiths, in the tone with which a stout English bull-terrier '252 GLENCAIRN. raiglit speak of a shivering, silk- jacketed, toy Italian greyhound, '^ but / don't like their ways. Tm unrefined and uncouth enough to believe in marrying for love." At this stage of the conversation Zora recollected that she had a particular letter to write that evening, and that there were pens, ink, and paper in the library. So she arose and withdrew, deeming it discreet to leave the other two now that the conversa- tion had reached a point from which, if Martin GriiB&ths thought it well to make any personal allusion, he would find it easy to direct it into a channel that suited his purpose. Griffiths, however, was prudent, and bearing in mind his conversation with Glencairn that morning, he would not run the risk of jarring on Luli's sensitive spirit GLENCAIRN. 253 by any premature or unexpected avowal. He was not one of those who keep digging up the seed to see if it is growing ; he knew how easy it is to frighten a timid bird, how the very eagerness with which you pursue it scares it further away ; and he knew well that his time to speak had not yet come. So he did not avail himself of the oppor- tunity which Zora had kindly afforded him, but continued conversing on the sub- ject of French manners and customs, and national differences, wherein his British prejudices betrayed themselves amusing- ly, for, traveller and wanderer though he was, his cosmopolitan manner of life had not effaced from his mind certain natural and national instincts of affinity and repul- sion. 254 GLENCAIRN. '^ After all," he added, presently, " if one of the worst fellows I ever knew was a Frenchman, one of the kindest and best fellows was a Frenchman, too. That they should have been cousins of the same blood, always seems to me a wonder. The Maravals, I mean. What a tragic story that was altogether ! I daresay your father has told you about it often ?" "No," said Luli. "Maraval? I don't seem to recollect the name. Papa does not very often tell me any of the interesting anecdotes he knows. You tell me, please," and she leant back, and folded her hands in her lap, and looked at him, prepared to listen. " Why, your father was a great ally of poor Claude's. They went partners, you see, he and Paul ; and although they never GLENCAIBX. 255 were what I should call real true friends, there is no doubt that there was some quarrel, some high words about that girl, at the bottom of it," said Griffiths, who had not the happy knack of beginning at the right end of a story, and often plunged into it in the middle, and then had to go back and pick himself up. Instead of picking himself up this time, however, he floundered further away from the beginning, and hazarded losing himself in generalities, by continuing, '' "Women generally are at the bottom of every quarrel, I fancy; don't you think so?" " Men say so," she responded, smiling. *' But who were these partners who quar- relled ? and how did the quarrel turn out?" "• Badly enough ; that's what I'm going to tell you. Paul Maraval and Claude 256 GLENCAIRN. went partners in their claim you see, being cousins, and having come out to seek their fortune in the gold mines together. They struck a good vein, and soon got a tolerable pile between them. They weren't a bit alike. Claude was a delicate, slim, hand- some young fellow ; and Paul a great big ruffian, with black eyes that bored you through at twenty paces." " And they were in love with the same girl, I suppose ?" suggested Luli. " Yes, just so ; a girl down at Monterey. The story went that it was Claude she liked first and best, and that she used to write long letters to Claude, and that that brought on the quarrel. Anyhow, one day Paul Maraval and all the gold were gone together, and Claude lay nearly dying in his cabin. He never let on who struck him GLENCAIEN. 257 down, but nobody doubted it was Paul. And your father nursed Claude, and looked after him like a brother." *' Dear papa ! it is like him !" commented Luli, affectionately. ''Well," pursued Griffiths, warming up in his narrative, " time went on, and Claude got well, and the news came at last that Paul was at Monterey with a heap of money, and was on the eve of marriage with the girl poor Claude was so hard hit about, and it turned out that he had told her slanders about Claude, to break off her attachment to him, you see. So Claude was off in hot haste to Monterey, and Glencairn, who was on his way there too on his own business, travelled the same road. It happened rather remarkably that it was on Paul Maraval's very wedding-eve that Claude VOL. III. s 258 GLENCMEN. and Glencairn came upon him suddenly in the saloon. Now this Paul was one of the deadest shots I ever knew, and he'd got a pistol that he used to say had his luck in it, for with it he'd never failed to hit his mark. Of course his game was to put Claude in the wrong, and make as if he were provok- ed to fire first." *'Well?" inquired Luli, getting inte- rested. " Well, it went against all one's notions of poetical justice ; it was the villain who fired and hifc ; it was poor Claude's pistol- arm that fell lamed at his side, so that he couldn't return the shot. Your father was unarmed^ oddly enough, that night, I don't know how it happened. And there are not many men who would have thrown them- selves unarmed upon Paul Maraval, — Mara- GLENCAIRN. 259 val being known to be the desperate charac- ter he was, — as Glencairn did, yes, and wrested his pistol out of his hand in a scuffle the witnesses didn't forget in a hurry. He kept that pistol of Maraval's, by the way, as a sort of relic, or trophy. I wonder whether he has it still ?" " A little gilt and ivory one ? — yes," said Luli in a low voice, moved by the associa- tions this cheerful narrative had stirred in her, but not betraying any agitation, and perfectly unsuspicious still. " No, a silver-mounted one ; with an M embossed on it. I daresay your father hasn't showed it to you; he is rather superstitious, I remember, and this revolver was deemed unlucky. I daresay your father wouldn't like to see anything un- lucky in your delicate little hands. Poor s2 260 GLENCAIEN. Claude's wrongs were well avenged any- how; for the end of Paul Maraval was- But the end of Paul Maraval Lull was destined never to hear. Griffiths, unsus- piciously rambling on through his story, had not noticed that his words had any effect upon her. She had not uttered a cry or a sigh ; she had scarcely started ; she had only raised her head and turned it towards him ; but in the twilight he could not see the strange sudden paleness that had overspread her face, could not know the violent bound and then the heavy stillness of her heart. Still he thought it was a little unusual that she, who was habitually so gentle and courteous, should interrupt him so abruptly, as if she were quite un- conscious that he was speaking at all. GLENCAIEN. 261 " Silver - mounted ? double - barrelled ? witb an M embossed on it ?" said Luli, without waiting to hear what became of the Maraval cousins, and speaking in a low, hard, mechanical voice, yet incredu- lously, as though she doubted whether she could have heard aright. "Yes, that's it." Some instinct told Griffiths that he had no longer an interested and sympathetic listener, and he did not continue his narra- tive, but waited and looked at her ques- tioningly in the unrevealing twilight that veiled the expression of her eyes from his. Yet had he been able to see them, he could only have read there a sort of stunned, startled bewilderment — a numb, half para- lysed wonder. '* Am I dreaming? "What is this ?" 262 GLENCAIRN. She rose up suddenly from his side. '' Wait for me here a minute," she said quietly, and passed swiftly into the house. In a few minutes she came back, and on her return encountered Zora crossing the dining-room — Zora modest and self-pos- sessed and serpentinely graceful as usual, with her letter in her hand, apparently half hesitating as to whether she should venture out into the verandah, where she looked somewhat surprised at seeing Griffiths alone. Luli, unlike Luli's usual self, did not speak to Zora, but brushed past her, and went straight to Martin Griffiths's side. " Come round the garden with me," she whispered, totally unconscious of the pos- sible effect and inference of her words, and simply desirous to get out of Zora's hearing. GLENCAIRN. 263 " Certainly," said Griffiths, starting up witli alacrity. "Keep your shawl round you; the evening air is cool," he added, noticing that she had clasped her hands in the drapery of the shawl that crossed her chest and was thrown over her shoulder. They were out of sight of the window where Zora stood. Luli stopped and drew something from the folds of her shawl. " Is this the revolver?" she said, holding it out to him. '* Yes, I think so. Ah yes, that's it ! see the M on it !" he said, bending to examine it in the moonlight, for across the path where they stood now one pale ray of moonlight streamed. " But don't keep it, if it's unlucky," he added. ^' 1 can't bear that anything that is even supposed to be unlucky, and that has such dark associa- 264 GLENCAIRN. tions of crime with it, should come near you r She looked at him vaguely, without seeming to hear what he was saying, not seeing him in truth. Her face was turned away from the light, but even in the dusk of shadow something in her look struck him with anxiety. He rather saw with his mind's eye, than with his body's sight, that something was wrong, though he guessed not what. "Luli?" he began questioningly, ten- derly ; but she answered, as if she had not heard him speak, in a half-bewildered, be- seeching way, "Don't tell my father, please — that I have — shown fyou — this. He Would be vexed with me for meddling with his things. I — must go in — now." GLENCAIEN. 265 *' Are you ill, Lull ?" lie asked anxiously. " No — only — chilled. I'm cold — my heart is cold," she murmured, brokenly. By the light of the lamp in the dining- room both Grifl&ths and Zora saw Luli's face as she passed quickly by them, and almost fled away from them, saying only, '' Don't follow me." They looked at each other as the door swung to behind her, and they heard her light feet fly upstairs as though something were pursuing her. " Is she not well ? How pale and strange she looks !" said Zora, looking alarmed. " She said she was chilled. What can be the matter with her?" said Griffiths, anxiously. "What have you been talking about? what have you been saying to her ?" asked Zora. 266 GLENCAIEN. "Nothing, I was only telling her an anecdote about an interesting case of rival- ry and robbery and all that — a fellow who shot his cousin — but surely " " Shot his cousin ? you have been telling her about a murder of that sort ?" exclaim- ed Zora. " It was that then ! of course. Why, don't you know? have you never heard " " Heard what ? I know nothing. Yes, I know she was engaged. Was he then " "Shot," replied Zora, in a low voice, shuddering. " Good God ! if I had only known ! But I, like a blundering idiot, went on telling her how her father wrested the pistol from the man's hand, and kept it as a relic, and asked her if he had it still ; and GLENCAIEX. 267" of course it must all be a most painful sub- ject to her, poor child !" " Kept the pistol ! he ! her father kept the pistol? and you asked her — about that r cried Zora, starting, white with hor- ror and dismay, the truth bursting upon her like a thunderbolt. Then recovering herself and remembering that, while there lingered a hope of keeping the secret, it must be guarded still with all the power of heart and brain, she added hurriedly, in agitated explanation, '* She has never got over it — we never speak of it to her — he was killed — shot — and we never let her hear of any such case." " I am very sorry. I shall come to-mor- row early. Go to her now," said Griffiths^ sorely troubled, and took his leave. "268 GLENCAIEN. Zora flew to Lull's door ; it was locked ; Zora tried to open it, and pleaded, " Let me m! " Who is there ?" asked Lull, in a strange suppressed voice. " Only I, darling. Are you not well ? may I not come in ?" "I am quite well. Leave me, please," vras all tlie answer she received. It was useless to vex her by persisting, ^ora left her, but did not venture downstairs again. Glencairn might return; and she dared not face him with the news that the old skeleton had risen and rattled its bones in Lull's face. She wondered over all that Griffiths might have said to Luli, conjectured fearfully how much his words had led her to suspect. Did she suspect at all? or was she only overstrung and agitated ? — GLENCAIEN. 26^ and if site suspected, did her suddenly aroused suspicions drive in tlie direction of the truth ? Trembhng with terror and excitement, and the consciousness that all the house- hold hung blindly and darkly on the brink of some gulf, whose depths they could not guess, Zora crept to her bed, and lay listening, and started and shook as she heard Glencairn's foot upon the stair. But he, supposing they were sleeping, and that all was well, did not call for Luli, but passed, with cautiously quiet footfall, in unsuspecting tranquillity, to his room, while Zora lay shivering in cold thrills of fear and foreboding. 270 CHAPTER XXXV. *' None shall triumph a whole life through ; For death is one and the fates are three ; At the door of life, by the gate of breath, There are worse things waiting for men than death. Death could not sever my soul and you, As these have severed your soul from me." Swinburne. "'TTTHEEE are the young ladies?'' inquired Glencairn, the next morning, as he stood by the breakfast- table. *^ Please, sir, Miss Luli "began the servant, rather hesitatingly. ** Isn't she well?" he interrupted her, sharply. GLENCAIEN. 271 " I don't know, sir ; but Miss Zora won't come down, and says she don't want any breakfast ; and Miss Luli is locked in her room." ''Alone?" "Yes, sir; she won't let Miss Zora in, I think." Glencairn waited to hear no more, but strode upstairs to Luli's room. Outside Luli's door Zora was standing, with her hand on the latch, as if she had been asking for admittance. At sight of Glen- cairn she started, and drew hastily back, and looked round, as if contemplating a flight to her own room. His heavy hand on her shoulder arrested her; his eyes fastened, like the dull, malignant eyes of a serpent, on her face. '^ What's the matter ?" he said. 272 GLENCAIEN. "I don't know — I can't imagine. She will not open her door." Glencairn shook the lock with an impa- tient hand. *' Open the door, Luli." There was a moment's silence; then a hasty, uncertain step crossed the floor. The key was turned, the latch lifted, and the door flung open wide, with an abruptness and carelessness totally uncharacteristic of Luli, and opposite to her usual leisurely softness. She stood before them, facing them, white and wild, her startled eyes like those of a wild creature hunted to the brink of a precipice, and turning there to bay. She had on the white dress she had worn the previous night; the same jet cross hung on her bosom; the same ribbon that had bound back the smooth GLENCAIEN. 273 bright blonde braids of hair yesterday had slipped loosely down among the tangled and disordered tresses now. *' What do you want?" she said. The wildness of her gaze, the uncer- tainty with which her eye wandered, her deadly 'paleness, and the strange abrupt- ness of her tone, struck them both with a cold shudder of alarm. It was not insanity, but the wildness of a brain over- fraught with fearful doubts and dreads. " Child, what is the matter ?" "Luli, dear, what is it?" faltered Zora. But though Zora asked what was the matter, something in her manner, in her manifest shrinking and nervous agitation, in the terror and the consciousness with which her dark eyes glanced and sank, betrayed to Luli's excited and high-strung VOL. III. T 274 GLENOAIRN. perceptions that Zora had no need to ask. Whatever it was that had to be known, Zora knew it! This conviction flashed upon Luli swift and clear as lightning, as Zora's tremulous, fearful glance wa- vered between herself and Glencairn. Unsuspicious even to obtuseness gen- erally, unnaturally keen-sighted now, the conviction struck home to Lull's heart at once, but struck her with no added pang. All she knew, all she thought, all her poor bewildered tortured brain had room to comprehend, was this. The weapon that had caused her lover's death, concerning which there had been such marvel and such mystery, the weapon whose possession if traced to anyone would have given a clue at once towards that mystery's solution, was her father's, had GLENCAIEN. 275 been in her father's possession for years. Why then had her father kept this strange silence both at that time and since ? why had he borne no witness ? given no evi- dence? This was all that she could realize ; this question only had been burn- ing like red-hot iron in her dizzy, whirling brain during all the vigil of that night which had seemed endless, yet ended all too soon. So silent under thoughts too terrible to be put into words, — speechless lest the question to which there seemed but one answer, and that too full of horror for her to endure and live, should burst from her lips, — faint and dizzy, and feeling like one being whirled through space, with the rush of innumerable waters in her ears and black night surging round her, she let T 2 276 GLENCAIRN. them take her by the hand and question her and lead her downstairs. They looked at each other in silence then, and saw, and yet turned their eyes away from seeing, that the evil hour was upon them. While yet she lay panting and mute, unable to find words to utter, on the sofa where they had laid her, while they watched her and dared not push their questions so far as to precipitate the mo- ment that Zora at least knew must come, Martin Grij3iths, anxious to know whether Luli had recovered from her last night's indisposition, appeared upon the scene. He had no need to ask any question ; he saw at once the terrible change in her. Pale and startled, he bent over her and lifted the frail hand and laid his fingers on the little wrist. GLENCAIEN. 277 Lull looked up at him, and for a mo- ment she seemed to breathe more freely — to draw in a purer air. In the stifling coils of the nightmare in which she was struggling, the presence of a spirit that was true, the subtle influence of a soul that was loyal and open and sincere, touched her with a kind of unaccountable relief. "What other influence was it that unlocked her painfully closed lips, and led her to break the unnatural silence she had held ? " She is very ill," Griffiths said, anxiously. " I am not ill," she said, with a sort of wild impatience as if breaking free from some imprisonment, " I am dead ! They killed me two years ago — they killed me with him ! My life was over from the hour they brought him to me dead. And this house is haunted ! the air is full of horror. 278 GLENCATEN. I am stifled in it !" Her eye wandered away from him and glanced wildly around. Slie turned and raised herself half up sud- denly, and looked at Glencairn and Zora. Glencairn had drawn Zora aside, and she was shrinking away from the stern demand of his gaze. " What have you done to her ? what have you said to her ?" he asked, in a deep, low whisper. " Nothing, on my soul !" protested Zora, solemnly, gathering from the truth the courage to look up. Luli watched their faces with a strange look. ** Go to papa — in the next room, you and he," she said, very quietly under her breath to Griffiths. " Zora, come here to mer Zora went and stood by Luli's side, as Griffiths drew Glencairn apart. GLENCAIKN. 279 The moment she found herself alone with Zora, Luli with a sudden effort sprang to her feet, and caught Zora's two hands in hers. Her slender fingers strained Zora's with a strength that was startling ; she drew her back further away from the door with a force that was irresistible ; her eyes flamed upon Zora's face, and pierced down into the depths of Zora's soul. *^ You know" Luli said, in an awful whisper, "and you shall tell me, now and here ! How came he by his death T' Zora, paralysed, at first could not speak. " How can I know ?" she then gasped. " You know" repeated Luli, in the same deep unnatural whisper. '' You shall tell me. I will kill you if you don't !" Her sHght frail fingers grasped Zora's hands till they almost bruised them ; and 280 GLENOAIRN. Zora shrank and shivered with a faint cry of fear, for all the tiger nature of her father glared in Lull's altered eyes. " Lull — Luli — I can't ! I can't ! Come back — oh, Mr. Glencairn! come back," cried Zora, desperately. *' Come back — tell her I do not know!" Griffiths and Glencairn were on the spot in a moment. Glencairn stood between the two girls, pushing Zora back almost roughly, challenging Lull's eyes with the grim defiance and agony of his own. Luli was past all dread now. Her fearless gaze did not shrink from her father's ; her steady hands did not tremble as they searched in the folds of her dress, and closed with a convulsive tenacity on the betraying relic of the past tragedy — the silver mount- ed revolver, unloaded and harmless now, GLENCxilEN. 281 harmless as a baby's plaything, yet more murderous this day in its bloodless be- trayal than in the days when it had done its work. ** How came this — yours — there ?" she said, and to that voice and to those eyes no living lips could answer a lie. " Who told her it was mine ?" cried Glen- cairn, savagely, turning with a flash of fury upon Martin Griffiths. " How came it there ?" she asked again, and this time there was a passion of plead- ing in her tone, as she seized and clung to the last frail floating straw of hope to keep her from sinking into the hideous depths thatyawned before her horror-stricken eyes. But the sullen and defiant desperation on Glencairn's face snatched away that last straw. 282 GLENCAIKN. "Did she tell you?" he demanded^ pointing to Zora. " No," said Luli, staring at him wildly. *• So — it was your hand !" she said after a pause, with a sort of bewilderment in her tone. And there then was a silence. The hour has come now, and they know it. Destiny has overtaken Glencairn, and he turns to face it without a word, surren- ders, knowing his case hopeless, without an attempt at self-defence or denial. Luli has no reproach to utter, no question to ask. Her eyes seem to recede, and a strange light flickers in their depths, and though they are fixed still upon her father's face, it is as if they saw it not. Her breast heaves, and she seems to be struggling for GLENCAIRN. 288- breath; her lips twitch and quiver con- vulsively ; at last they are distorted into the fearful " semblance of a smile," and a wild scream of laughter bursts from them. As that laugh, ending in a piercing shriek, strikes upon his ear, Glencairn starts and rushes from the room. He brushes roughly past a servant who, startled by the scream, is running upstairs,. and flies into the open air. How long he stayed out, how far he walked, or where he went, he never knew. He was not conscious of time nor place. So, during those hours that he had deemed he left her to the possibilities of the dawn of new hopes and affections, he had left her to horror and despair. And from the hand he had dreamt might lead ■284 GLENCAIRN. her towards tlie light had fallen the blow that had cast her into the abyss. He did not wonder how all would end. It seemed to him that all was ended. The vessel had gone down, with all hopes on board, sunk suddenly in sight of land. He heaped curses, the deeper and bitterer for their silence, on his own forgetfulness in leaving out of his calculations that one piece of fatal knowledge which Griffiths possessed. But he could not think; he could not reflect. The past, the present, the future seemed blotted out. '' Total eclipse amidst the blaze of noon." He could see nothing. He could not have told whether moments, hours, or days had past before he stood before his own door again. With the look on his face he would have worn had he stood with his back to the wall GLENCAIEN. 285 facing a howling mob thirsting for liis blood, be stood upon tbe threshold facing the news that might await him. The servant who opened the door was in tears, and sobbed louder at the sight of him. But in a moment Zora came for- ward, and reached her hand towards him. Was the gesture one of warning, or of entreaty ? He looked in her face and stood still, as if he had been shot. " What has happened ?" he said ; and the servant thought his tone showed want of feeling. Zora was silent a moment, her breast heaving, but no tears in her solemn, awe- struck eyes. Then she whispered, in a faltering voice, " It is well with her now." '286 GLENCAIRN. He looked down on the ground, and his stern lips did not quiver ; his face might have been cut out of marble. "Dead?" he said. And Zora breathed faintly, " Yes." 287 CHAPTER XXXYI. " You should have wept her yesterday, Wasting upon her bed ; But wherefore should you weep to-day That she is dead ? Lo, we who love weep not to-day, But crown her royal head." Christina Rossetti. TT was on Zora tliat the task of meeting Glencairn witli the news had fallen; for Griffiths, strong man though he was, at that moment was too broken down to face Luli's father with the tidings that must be told. It was not Glencairn only who was to suffer; on Griffiths too the blow had fallen with stunning force. The words of love that he had kept in his heart, and 288 GLEKCAIRN. longed to breathe, had been at last spoken ; the hour he had counted on, when he might set himself free to utter them, had come — and thej had been outpoured at last ! upon a dying ear unconscious of them, upon a dead ear that heard them not ! So it was Zora, weak though she was in herself, yet brave in her womanly sympathies, who took the responsibility of bearing the ill news. '^ How was it ?" asked Glencairn. He had led Zora into the dining-room, and shut the door. " Why don't you speak ?" he added. " Do you think I can't bear it? Haven't I borne worse ? Tell me all." " There is little to tell," murmured Zora. " She broke a blood-vessel almost directly after you left the house. Mr. Griffiths went for the doctor ; but he came too late GLENCAIEN. 289 to do anything for lier. She never spoke — or at least spoke no articulate words — till just the last." *' Did she — suffer much ?" he asked, in a harsh, low whisper. " No ; I do not think she was conscious for more than a few minutes. She was taken from us soon — very soon after the doctor came." ** But at the last — you say she spoke. What did she say?" Zora hesitated a moment ; then she an- swered him, softly and solemnly, "We knew it was the end, and I was holding her in my arms, and bent close to hear what she said, as her lips moved. She looked away beyond us all with a sort of light on her face, and said, ' So this was why you gave me no sign, my love !* VOL. III. U 290 GLENCAIEN. Then slie tried to stretch her arms out as if she saw — him — there, and whispered his name. And that — is all." Zora's voice had trembled at the allusion to Duke, and now she broke down into sobs, and the tears brimmed over and streamed down her cheeks. But he still listened immovable as stone. He only asked one more question, " Where is she ?" And when Zora had answered, " In her own room," he turned and left her. He went up straight to Lull's room, and they who watched and listened, heard the door close softly behind him. Then there was a long, long silence. No human pity, no human reproach, no love nor hate, dared penetrate the solitude where Glencairn watched by the fair cold marble that was his loving, living daughter once — how long GLENCAIRN. 291 ago ? No voice nor footfall dared disturb the silence that reigned there. At last he came out from the room of death, and asked for Zora. She was down- stairs, they told him. Zora was sitting with her face buried in her hands, her heart aching alike with the horror of this new tragedy and the re- awakened agony of the old wound, when Glencairn entered. *' You are here ? It is you I want," he said. Zora looked up, and not only the old grief, but the old terror, clutched her heart again. She had always feared Glencairn, even during the life of the one creature who exercised over him a softening and humanising influence. Now that that one frail link between him and human love was u2 292 GLENCAIRN. gone, what miglit she not have to fear? what wrath might he not wreak on her in his despair? The stain of one murder was already on his soul ; what security had she now that the bitterness of his suffer- ing might not turn in fury upon her ? As he came to her side, and looked down upon her with his dark deep-set eyes — eyes which burned with a sombre fire, and which no natural tears seemed to have softened — her terror of him was strong upon her ; but stronger still her pity and her sorrow, her conviction that in the pre- sence of this terrible tragedy, cowardice should be ashamed to enter. For once in her life Z era's shame of her fear was greater than her fear ; her spirit, uplifted above her fanciful terrors, in the face of an anguish deeper than her own, rose strong to dare and to endure. GLENCATRN. 293 A nobler resignation and pleading than he had ever seen in her look before filled her large dark sad eyes now, as she gazed at him, unshrinking, too deeply moved for tremblings or tears. But she had no reason to fear. His voice had never been more quiet — his man- ner never so gentle — to her. "It is not much I have to say," he began. " Only that from the oath I exacted from you once, I absolve you now. Tell the true story to whom you will. Some day some one may have a claim to hear it from you. I set you free to speak." He was silent a few moments, and then added with a sort of abstracted thoughtful- ness, '^ You have kept my secret well." " God forgive me ! I have," she an- swered. 294 GLENCAIEN. " The ways of Destiny are wonderful," he said in the same abstracted way, as if only half his consciousness were there with her, and the depths of his soul were un- knowing of her presence and of his own words. *^I dreaded lest vou in dreams or fevers might betray me. And it was he — - whom I had hoped — Well ! we know not from what quarter the thunderbolt will fall." He sat there lost in thought, with his head on his hand ; and for a long while neither broke the silence. Zora looked at him, and as the moments went by, still more and more her fear and recoiling from him yielded to her compassion. She could not hate him now in his mute, unuttered, dogged despair, which found relief in no tear nor sigh, which no mortal could have dared essay to soothe or stir, GLENCAIRN. 295 " The Fates have played their game with me," he said at last. ^' They let me hope — as the cat lets the mouse run. They showed me a glimpse of what her life might have been, if she had never known " " If she had never known !" mused Zora, with her deep eyes still dwelling on his face. " Could the truth be always hidden ? Yet sometimes — when I have seen you — seen you with her — I, even I, have won- dered — Is it possible ? Was it all a horrid dream ?" She had never spoken so to Glencairn before, and so speaking, she marvelled at herself. He seemed to be recalled to a clearer consciousness of her presence by her words. *' It was no dream," he said quietly, " It was 1 who shot him.'' 296 GLENCAIEN, Zora's eyes, dilated with horror and shrinking, were yet fixed with a kind of dreadful fascination upon his. She could scarcely breathe, and cold thrills ran like ice through her veins ; but a fearful, an irresistible curiosifcy impelled her reluctant lips to feebly frame the words — '*Was it — a duel — in fair fight?" ^*In fair fight? — no," he said, his face unclouded by any shame. It seemed, in- deed, as if his set, stern features would nevermore be shadowed or changed by any fresh emotion. " From the bushes, as they said. How they all wondered ! My aim was always a sure one. When he had fallen, I went to his side to see if the work was done. And at the last breath he drew, he looked up and knew me." Zora started with a sob of horror and anguish and yearning. GLENCAIRN. 297 ''All — all!" she cried, shuddering, her whole frame seeraing to collapse in one great tremor, as she buried her face deep down in her hands. ''Oh, my darling ! my darling ! — murdered !" she moaned ; and the hands that covered her face shivered like aspen leaves. Glencairn took no notice of her agitation. He was past all agitation himself. Only his brows contracted in a deeper line above the stern dark eyes, as he said, more to himself than her — "I wish that he had not looked up and known me before he died. That last look of his has come back to me — sometimes. It is the nearest approach to what you call remorse that I have ever had." *' Remorse ?" she repeated, looking up at him wildly. " Have you known no re- morse ? Oh, how could you live with that 298 GLENCAIRN. upon your soul?" Sbe was far too des- perate to fear him ; lier terror of him, lost in deeper passion, had fled at once and for ever now. And as she broke recklessly down all barriers, and spoke her true heart's wonder fearlessly to him, so, for the first and last time, he spoke from the very depths of his soul to her ; and a far-off reverberation of the tempest in which that lost and ship- wrecked soul was tossing blindly in the dark betrayed itself in his tone as he said, after drawing one deep, long breath — ^' I only loved Luli — I only cared for Luli. There was only one soft spot in my nature, and that was Luli. She never knew why I killed him. I wish she had known. I told her only now — but how can I know whether she heard me ? She GLENCAIEN. 299* has died as her mother died — and both their deaths are written to my charge ! Yet I tried to save her — only all went wrong. I reap the harvest I sowed. But if I were mad, that madness was foredoomed; the seed I sowed, and the fruit I gather to» day. Fate played its game — but the game's played out now." He looked away beyond Zora, as though he saw an enemy — heard an enemy's mirth mock his despair. " You cursed Fates — laugh on ! I defy you now ! There is no vulnerable spot left in me. Do your worst !" Zora was silent awhile, in a reluctant compassion, so deep and resistless that, when at last she spoke, her tone and words were full of involuntary sympathy. " Is there — no hope — no hope left in life for you ?" 300 GLENCAIEN. He did not answer impatiently nor scornfully, but sliook his head gently, and said, ^'No, no. No new life. Too late." Presently he rose, and went again to the room where his dead darling lay, and looked once more on her cold, calm beauty. When he left her this time, he kissed the marble lips and said " Good-bye." As Martin Griffiths and Zora stood together speaking in hushed whispers, they heard — for everything sounded distinctly through the solemn silence of the house — Glen- cairn's step come slowly downstairs, Glen- cairn's voice asking the servants for a railway guide. Then in a few minutes he entered the room where they were. The railway guide-book was open in his hand, and for a moment or two, as he ran his GLENCAIRN. 301 eye and his finger down one column, he did not notice them. He took out his watch and glanced from the book to it with knitted brow, and seemed to note the time with something approaching satisfaction. He looked at Martin Griffiths, and spoke to him, in the old, quiet, grave, self-pos- sessed tone, apparently regardless of the horror and recoiling striving with com- passion in Griffiths's honest eyes. For that there had been foul play in the matter of Duke Mayburne's death, Griffiths of course too plainly perceived. "Will you give all orders for the funeral ?" Glencairn said. " I am going on a short journey — only three hours' rail," he added, glancing down at the book in his hand. *' In the drawer of that writing- table you will find money enough for all ■302 GLENOAIRN. present expenses, if I am not back soon. Here is tlie key. Consult together, you two ; and give all necessary orders." The clock was heard to strike. Glen- cairn turned at the sound with a slight start, and looked across the garden and the fields towards the railway-bridge. They noticed a sort of strange eagerness — the light of an excitement and suspense that had nothing to say to hope — in his eyes. '* My watch is slow," he said ; " the •express is nearly due. Good-bye. I don't offer my hand. You can take it when we meet again !" 103 CHAPTER XXXVII. ' " Unarm, Eros ; the long day's task is done, And we must sleep. — So it must be, for now AU length is torture. Since the torch is out, Lie down, and stray no farther !" Antomj and Cleopatra. " From too much love of living, From hopes and fears set free. We thank with brief thanksgiving Whatever gods may be — That even the weariest river Winds somewhere safe to sea !" Swinburne. fTlHE guard of the express-train that whirled on its way to London that afternoon, knew Glencairn by sight, and not knowing of the domestic calamity that had befallen at the Chalet, smiled as he 304 GLENCAIEN. touclied his cap to the gentleman whom he had good reason for recognizing, albeit Glencairn was always more lavish of his silver than of his smiles. It happened that no one of the neighbourhood who was personally acquainted with him travelled in the same carriage by that express ; and the guard noticed nothing strange in his manner either as he entered or as he alighted from the train. N"ot long after the arrival of that train in London, another train started for a popular sea-side place within a convenient distance of the metropolis. A young married couple travelling by this latter train took especial notice of one of their fellow-passengers — a tall man, with dark hair heavily streaked with grey, with a grizzled beard, and eyes whose strangeness GLENCAIllN. 305 puzzled them until tliey observed that one was of a different and darker hue than the other. This man looked often at the young couple, and although one or two casual stock travelling remarks were ex- changed, and he spoke to them very gently and courteously, they noted that he never smiled. The young wife was a pretty, rosy, dark-eyed girl, not in the least like Luli. It was not on account of any like- ness, real or imaginary, that he looked at her. But there before him were youth and love and happiness. And it seemed so strange and dream-like to him in that hour to look on love and joy and youth, and realise — as one looking across an impass- able sea— that those far-off things existed on the other horizon. That evening on the beach, some two or VOL. III. X 306 GLENCAIRN. three miles from that popular watering- place, a boatman stood hitching up to a post a light, pretty cockle-shell of a boat, about which two little children were play- ing. The Summer days closed late ; the Sum- mer night had only cast the first shadowy softness over sea and land. In the misty azure of the sky, across which white pen- nons of clouds streamed proudly, there still lingered one fair cloud banner faintly tinged with rose, the last ensign of the dying day, fading and sinking as the standards of night arose. The crescent moon was rising victorious over the fallen sun. But in the clear grey sea, whose waves now lipped the shore so softly, no star was mirrored as yet. The beach was solitary there ; the spot GLENCAEEN. 307 where beauty and wealth and fashion most did congregate, was miles away. The boatman looked up as another human figure came towards him along the lonely shore. The gentleman who was drawing near, walked slowly, as if in deep abstraction. When he got close to the boat, as if about to pass it by, he paused suddenly, and turned, and looked from the boat to the man. ''Want a row, sir?" said the man, see- ing an opportunity for a stroke of business. " Is this your boat ?" the gentleman asked. '' Yes, sir. The Mary, No better little craft along the coast." " I will take a row by moonlight. The x2 308 GLENOAIRN. sea is calm ; I'll take tlie oars and row my- self. Push down the boat." "Shan't I accompany you, sir? It'll be getting dark soon." " Not with that moon rising. Besides, I can handle an oar with any man. I was a sailor once." "Was you, sir? Then I'll trust the Mary in your care. Here, young kids out o* the way!" and warning the two children aside, he prepared to push the boat down. " Are these children yours ?" asked the gentleman. "No, sir, a mate o' mine's, they be. Polly and Dick. Here, come and speak to the gentleman." The little girl had golden hair, and all little girls with golden hair bear more or less resemblance to each other, especially GLENCAIEN. 309 when the twilight is closing in. The gentleman did not take much notice of the boy, but he spoke to the girl, and laid his hand upon her hair, and twisted one curl round his finger. Then he slipped two or three bright coins into her hand, and followed the boatman down to the lapping waves that were running up to kiss the keel of the boat. He stepped into the boat, and picked up the oars. As he stood poising the oars in his hand, he said half-carelessly to the boatman, " And have you any children, my man ?" " Yes, sir — one daughter. A fine lass she is, though I say it, and as good as she looks. The Mary here's named for her. Mary her name is.' ' The gentleman was silent for a mo- 310 GLENOAIRN. ment ; then a new thouglit seemed to strike him. " The Mary's named for her, is it ?" he said, and paused again, seeming lost in thought, as far as the boatman could judge his face in the fast-falling twilight. Pre- sently he threw down the oars, and drew out his watch and purse. "Look here," he said, *'you seem an honest fellow — and — I have an only daugh- ter too. I don't care for carrying my watch about me when I'm rowing alone. There's no knowing what craft one mayn't fall foul of. If you'll keep my watch safe for me, there's a sovereign for you when I come back, ril not be long. When I bring back your boat, give me my watch." He handed the watch, a handsome mass- ive hunting- watch with a heavy gold chain, GLENCAIRN. 311 to the man, who, somewhat surprised and thinking it "odd," but making no objec- tion, promised to guard it carefully. "And stay," the gentleman added, taking a piece of gold from his purse, as the boat slid off and rose upon the waves. " Give that to your Mary, and keep the watch safe till this Mary you trust in my care comes back to you." He tossed the piece of money to shore as he spoke. "God bless you, sir !" said the boatman and smiled as he saw the gold lying on his great rough palm gleam in the moon- light. It was so that Glencairn looked his last upon a human face ; and the last words that fell upon his ear were a blessing. The little boat was light and swift, and with Glencairn's strong arms pulling at the oars, it shot rapidly out to sea. , 812 GLENCAIRN. Furtlier, further out ! further still over the lowly heaving waves that bear it so lightly on their crests, and plash so softly against its sides as it dips down in their hollows. There are no white horses gal- loping along the sea this night ; no break- ers surge over sunken rocks. The moon is rising higher ; the boatman looking out sees his little vessel skim like a dark streak across the silver light. The rower has rested on his oars, and looks back to land. The lights are twink- ling now along the shore. Where the town lies, it is as if a topaz necklace had been flung along the curve of the coast, and every topaz ablaze with inner light. The stars are starting out from the shades of the darkening sky as the fiery writing glowed out upon the wall. But the mes- GLENCAIRN. 313 sage that night after night burns in the glory of the midnight heavens is one that though each mortal eye scans its fiery let- ters — in wonder, in adoration, in yearning or in prayer — no mortal heart has learned. He bends to his oars again, and pushes further out. Out to the sea where all that he knows of his life began — the sea where now it shall end. Those who knew him wondered after- wards whether in that supreme hour when he was alone between sea and sky, with the lights of land fading for ever, and all earth left behind — any visions of the past were with him in the solitude and the silence ? and were they visions of peace or pain ? How full of story the waves that splashed against the boat's side must have seemed ! From waters calmer, stiller than 314 GLENOAIRN. tliese he had once saved the life his mad- ness had destroyed. Waves sunnier than these, breaking on a fair far-off shore of Normandj, had sung the opening anthem of the love whose brief day had set in one red-stained midnight. Long ere that, — far, far back in the past that yet now must have seemed so near, — on the deck of a solitary ship tossing upon the South At- lantic Ocean, homeward bound, an earlier love had dawned. It was a wind like this, but stronger far, as they bent that day " In the teeth of the hard glad weather, In the blown wet face of the sea," that tossed and tangled her hair and rudely flushed her cheek when he first saw her whose life and death were thenceforth linked with his, — the pearl he won and wore, and then in his recklessness threw GLEXCAIRN. 315^ away. And yet long, long before that, before his earliest recollections began, from a stormy southern ocean shaken by the wildest of its tempests, a childish body had been caught up drenched and dripping, with the life still in it. It could not have seemed so strange now to think that he was that child, now that he had lived through all, and the circle had run its round and the beginning and the end appeared sa close. How strangely things come round in circles! Now when the wide sea and shoreless horizon lay before him and the- land behind, now when behind him with the paling lights there faded all of earth away — did he hear in the wash of the waves soft whispers of old memories that lulled the storm ? or did their hollow mur- 316 GLENOAIRN. mur sound of retribution and of despair? Did tlie last look of the man lie had murdered reproach him again, and those eyes which had met his for one dread un- forgotten moment in the parting of soul and body, grow out of the darkness to haunt him now ? Did the daughter whose life he had blasted gaze reproach on him with sad spiritual eyes ? or the wife who had pardoned him all smile pardon still ? If as he held departed spirits could return, sure- ly at that last hour the soul of Laura Glen- €airn, forgiving her own wrongs and her daughter's, would have fled down from heaven to his side, that he should not be alone when the darkness closed upon him. The lights are far off now ; there is no «ign of human life near him save the fleck of a white sail in the distance. A little wind GLENCMRN. 317 is rising, moaning across tlie waves; the pulse of the sea is throbbing. A few clouds have floated up from the horizon, and like dusky sea-birds are winging their way across the clear sky. One dark cloud drifts across the moon. He is alone in the silence and the shadows, alone on the bosom of the sea that rocked him as a child, that was all of father or mother he ever knew. " Qui s'endort dans le sein d'un p5re n'est pas en souci du re veil." That midnight the owner of the Mary watched and waited for his boat. The moon was low upon the horizon, flooding the sea from sky to shore with a last glory of light. Presently across the broad bright golden path of moonlight that seemed to lead 318 GLENCATRN. away to the Happy Isles no mariner has touched, there drifted a little boat. With a telescope at his accustomed eye, the watcher saw that it was empty and oar- less, and even before it had floated near enough for him to decipher the letters on the stern, he knew it was the Mary. No more than this was ever known of Glencairn. No body that could be identi- fied as his was ever found. His few friends, Martin Griffiths at their head, traced him afterwards as far as the last voice that had spoken to him, the last eye that had rested on his face. But the life that began in mystery closed in mystery. The sea held its secrets ; and in the depths where lies the secret of his birth, there lies the mystery of his death. No marble tomb is consecrated to GLENCMRX. 319 his memory ; no churchyard cross bears his name. In his '' vast and wandering grave " his body Hes at peace. And from his deep- dyed soul perhaps a mercy more fathomless and infinite than the sea, has washed the stains away. In a world where the secrets of all souls are known, there may be pardon and peace for even him. In this world nothing is known of him now save that he lived and died. His name is not linked with his crime ; the double brand of murderer and suicide rests not upon his unknown grave ; for the only two who know or suspect the true story of his sin and his death, keep their secret, and let his memory rest. It is too late to save or to atone, though there is still and ever time enough to brand his memory and blast his name — the name that Luli bore. 320 GLENCAIRN. But the J who loved her keep silence, in part for her sake, in part because in this case they hold the warning of the old stanza true, " Deal not vengeance for the deed, And deal not for the crime. The body to its place, and the soul to heaven's grace And the rest in God's own time !" Even Zora forgave him, and murmured *'6od rest his soul!" when that reckless soul had rushed " with all its imperfections on its head" into the face of the Eternal. For her, the sole survivor of the tragic story that ended deep down under the ocean waves, for Zora, the shadow of her rash and fatal love may never be wholly lightened off her life. But Time has laid his healing hand upon her heart ; and each succeeding year as it flowed and ebbed, has GLENCAIEN. 321 helped to wasli the bitterness of the mem- ory away. And she was too young to suffer for ever — too fair for all Hope to forsake her with the tragic awakening from one dream. Though one star fell, in due time another rose. The hour came when into that heart which had suffered and bled for Love, Love entered again. From the ashes of the once consuming fire, a new love arose like a phoenix, rose stronger, nobler, greater, than before. Now round a heart of oak her vine-like nature twines ; and she, who swayed weak with the bending sapling, stands strong with the standing oak. Now she is brave through his strength who was feeble alone ; she is true through his truth who was false VOL. III. Y 322 GLENCAIRN. tlirougli her feebleness. The new love is as bright with hope as the old love is shadowed with despair ; and while the Past still means remorse and sorrow, the future to her now means Love and Faith. THE END. LONDON : PRINTED BY DUNCAN MACDONALD, BLENHEIM HOUSE. 13, Great ^Iarlborough Street. MESSRS. HURST MD BLACKEH'S LIST OF NEW WORKS. HISTORIC CHATEAUX. By Alexander Baillie CocHRANTE, M.P. 1 vol. demy 8vo. 15s. COACHING ; With Anecdotes of the Eoad. By Lord Willi.V3I Pitt Lenxox, Author of " Celebrities I have Known," &c. Dedicated to His Grace the Duke of Beau- fort, K.G., President, and the Members of the Coaching Club. 1 vol. demy 8vo. los. " Lord William's book is genial, discursive, and gossipy. "We are indebted to the author's personal recollections for some lively stories, and pleasant sketches of some of the more famous dragsmen. Nor does Lord William by any means limit himself to the English roads, and English coaches. Bianconis Irish cars, the con- tinental diligences, with anecdotes of His Grace of Wellington, when Lord William was acting as his aide-de-camp during the occupation of Paris, with many other matters more or less germane to his subject, are all brought in more or less naturally. Altogether his volume, with the variety of its contents, will be found pleasant reading." — Pall Mall Gazette. " Lord William Lennox is favourably known as the author of a charming book full of most interesting personal recollections about the great and celebrated men he has known in his time. We have now from his f acUe and graceful pen another clever and amusing book, entitled 'Coaching; with Anecdotes of the Road,' which is pubUshed at a most seasonable time. It would be very diflBcult to give any adequate idea of the fascinating contents of Lord William Lennox's work in a. brief space — sufBce it to say that in the historical and antiquarian section the noble authors pleasant anecdotical humour imparts to what would otherwise be a dry performance all the charming gaiety of the sprightliest gossip. A very excellent account is given of coaching in Ireland. A quaint account, too, is givea of some of the most ' moving accidents ' incident to coaching, and Lord Wilham tells some capital stories about crack drivers, both professional and amateur, who were once famous. Altogether, we may say his lordship has been successful iu producing a fresh and lively book, which contains, in the pleasant guise of anec- dote and gossip, much information, both valuable and curious, on what may be called an out-of-the-way subject" — Daily Telegraph. "An extremely interesting and amusing work; chatty, anecdotical, and humor- ous. By far the best coaching book that has seen the light" — Globe. THKOUGH FRANCE AND BELGIUxM, BY RIVER AND CANAL, IN THE STEAM YACHT " YTENE." By W. J. C. MOENS. R.V.Y.C., Author of " English TraveUers and Itahan Brigands." 1 vol. demy 8vo, with Illustrations. 15s. " There is much in Mr. Moens's book that is decidedly fresh and original, while the novel routes that he followed introduced him to many interesting places which are too much neglected by ordinary tourists." — Saturday Review. " An agreeably written story of a pleasant tour." — Pall Mall Gazette. "This book is pleasantly written, the descriptions of the scenery and objects of interest are fresh and lively, and are interspersed with entertaining anecdote. Mr. Moens gives full and very valuable information to his yachting readers." — Sporting Gazette. " Mr. Moens's interesting book is full of the very information which is likely to be of service to any one who wishes to make a similar trip." — Field "A brightly- written, genial, and lively narrative. A pleasanter tour of an Autumn hohday we have not met with." — Graphic. " This is a model of what such a book should be. The author has given almost every atom of information the most exacting inquirer could demand, such as the particulars concerning his yacht, its crew, its passengers, and its management ; concerning pilots and their charges, coal and its cost, locks, distances, canal dues, and other expenses, &c.'' — Illustrated News. "For those who may Uke to undertake a similiar expedition the volume will be full of interest and of the greatest service."— .Be^r^ Life. 13, Great Marlborough Street. MESSRS. HUEST AND BLACKETT'S NEW WOUKS— Continued. TALES OF OUR GREAT FAMILIES. By Edward Walford, M.A., Author of "The County Families." 2 vols, crown 8vo. 21s. (Just Ready. J MY YEAR IN AN INDIAN FORT. By Mrs. Guthrie, Author of " Through Russia." 2 vols, crown 8vo. 21s. (Just Ready J OUR BISHOPS AND DEANS. By the Rev. F. Arnold, B.A., late of Christ Church, Oxford. 2 vols. 8vo. 30s. " This work is good in conception and cleverly executed, and as thoroughly honest and earnest as it is interesting and able. The style is original, the thought vigorous, the information wide and thorough, the portrait-painting artistic, and the comments keen enough to gratify and impress any student or thinker, whether or no he be inclined to endorse all the opinions of the author. There is not a chapter that any intelligent reader is likely to leave unfinished or to find uninter- esting. 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RECOLLECTIONS of COLONEL DE GONNE- VILLE. Edited from the French by Charlotte M. Yonge, Author of the " Heir of RedclyfFe," &c. 2 vols, crown Bvo. 21s. •' The author of this very interesting memoir was a French gentleman of ancient lineage, who left his home in Normandy to enter the service of Napoleon I. in 1804, and, having distinguished himself in the Grand Army, retired from military life in 1833, and survived to witness the war of 1870, and the outbreak of the Com- mune of 1871. The personal career of M. de GonnevUle, as we see it in his modest account of himself, presents a number of points of interest — for he was an officer of no ordinary merit — intelligent, vigilant, and with great presence of mind. The most valuable part of these memoirs consists in the light they throw on the great age of military wonders and revolution which passed before M. de Gonneville's eyes. The work contains some interesting details on more than one campaign of the Grand Army which have not, we believe, been disclosed before ; and it adds to our knowledge respecting the struggle in Poland and Prussia in 1807, and several passages of the Peninsular War. It brings us, also, within the presence of Na- poleon I., and some of the chiefs who upheld the fortunes of the First Empire ; and its anecdotes about that extraordinary man are evidently genuine and very charac- teristic. It introduces us to the inner life and real state of the Grand Army, and lays bare the causes of its strength and weakness. The work discloses a variety of details of interest connected with Napoleon's escape from Elba, the Hundred Days, the Bourbon Eestoration, and the Eevolution of July, 1830. On the whole, readers who care to know what an honourable soldier heard and said of the most wonderful time in modern history will find in these pages much to delight them. 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' ' This book is well written, and of thrilling interest." — Academy. " An invaluable biography ; one of the very best of modem times." — Messenger. " A narrative full of interest from first to last To tell it clearly and straight- forwardly is to arrest at once the attention of the reader, and in these qualities of a biographer Professor Yonge leaves little to be desired.""— Graphic. MY YOUTH, BY SEA AND LAND, from 1809 to 1816. By Charles Loftus, formerly of the Royal Navy, late of the Coldstream Guards. 2 vols, crown 8vo. 21s. "It was a happy thought that impelled Major Loftus to give us these reminis- cences of ' the old war,' which still retains so strong a hold on our sympathies. Every word from an intelligent actor in these stirring scenes is now valuable. Major Loftus played the part allotted to him with honour and ability, and he relates the story of his sea life with spirit and vigour. Some of his sea stories are as laughable as anything in 'Peter Simple,' while many of his adventures on shore remind us of Charles Lever in his freshest days. During his sea life Major Loftus became acquainted with many distinguished persons. Besides the Duke of Wellington, the Prince Regent, and William IV., he was brought into personal relation with the allied Sovereigns, the Due D'Angouleme, Lord William Bentinck, and Sir Hudson Lowe. A more genial, pleasant, wholesome book we have not often read." — Standard. "Major Loftus's interesting reminiscences will prove generally attractive; not only as full of exciting adventures, but as recalling stirring scenes in which the honour and glory of England were concerned." — Post. " Major Loftus gives us a book as entertaining as ' Midshipman Easy,' and as instructive as a book of travels. 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" Mr. Whetham's descriptions of scenery are picturesque, and his accomits of native manners and customs humorous and entert&iaias."— Standard 3 13, Great Marlborough Street. MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT'S NEW WORKS— Continued. HISTORY OF TWO QUEENS: CATHARINE OF ARAGON and ANNE BOLEYN. By W. Hepworth Dixon. Second Edition. Vols. 1 & 2. Demy 8vo. 30s. "In two handsome volumes Mr. Dixon liere gives us the first instalment of a new historical work on a most attractive subject. The book is in many respects a favourable specimen of Mr. Dixon's powers. It is the most painstaking and elaborate that he has yet written On the whole, we may say that the book is one which will sustain the reputation of its author as a writer of great power and versatility, that it gives a new aspect to many an old subject, and presents in a very striking light some of the most recent discoveries in English history."— Athenieum. "In these volumes the author exhibits in a signal manner his special powers and finest endowments. It is obvious that the historian has been at especial paina to justify his reputation, to strengthen his hold upon the learned, and also to extend his sway over the many who prize an attractive style and interesting narra- tive more highly than laborious research and philosophic insight." — Morning Post. " The thanks of all students of English history are due to Mr. Hepworth Dixon for his clever and original work, 'History of two Queens.' The book is a valuable contribution to English history. The author has consulted a number of original sources of information — in particular the archives at Simancas, Alcala, and Venice. Mr. Dixon is a skilful writer. His style, singularly vivid, graphic, and dramatic— is alive with human and artistic interest. Some of the incidental descriptions \each a very high level of picturesque power." — Daily News. " Mr. Hepworth Dixon, in his new work, has chosen a theme at once intrinsi- cally interesting and admirably fit for illustration by his practised and brilliant pen. The lives of Catharine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn give ample scope to a writer so clear and vivid in his descriptions, so lifelike in his portraiture, so de- cided in his judgment, and whose sparkling vivacity of style can be shaded off, when necessary, by such delicate touches of tenderness and pathos. For pleasant reading and very effective writing we can warmly commend Mr. Dixon's volumes." Daily Telegrajah. VOLS. III. & IV. OF THE HISTORY OF TWO QUEENS : CATHARINE OF ARAGON and ANNE BOLEYN. By W. Hepworth DrxoN. Second Edition. Demy 8vo. Price 30s. Completing tlie Work. " These concluding volumes of Mr. Dixon's ' History of two Queens ' will be per- used with keen interest by thousands of readers. "Whilst no less valuable to the student, they will be far more enthralling to the general reader than the earlier half of the history. Every page of what may be termed Anne Boleyn's story afi^ords a happy illustration of the author's vivid and picturesque style. The work should be found in every library." — Post. " Mr. Dixon has pre-eminently the art of interesting his readers. He has pro- duced a narrative of considerable value, conceived in a spirit of fairness, and written with power and picturesque effect." — Daily News. " Mr. Dixon has completed in these volumes the two stories which he has narrat- ed with so much grace and vigour. Better still, he has cast the light of truth upon incidents that have not been seen imder that light before. Full of romantic and dramatic sentiment as the story of Catharine is, we think that the more absorbing interest is concentrated in the story of Anne Boleyn. Never has it been told so fully, so fairly, or so attractively." — Notes and Queries. HISTORY OF WILLIAM PENN, Founder of Pennsylvania. By W. Hepworth Dixon. A New Library Edition. 1 vol. demy 8vo, v^ith 'Portrait. 12s. " Mr. Dixon's ' William Penn ' is, perhaps, the best of his books. He has now re- vised and issued it with the addition of much fresh matter. It is now offered in a sumptuous volume, matching with Mr. Dixon's recent books, to a new generation of readers, who will thank Mr. Dixon for his interesting and instructive memoir of one of the worthies of England."— ^'xamiwer 4 13, Great Maelborough Street. MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT'S NEW WO^KS—Conti7iued. LIFE OF THE RT. HON. SPENCER PERCEVAL ; Including His Correspondence. By His Grandson, Spencer Wal- POLE. 2 vols. 8vo, with Portrait. 30s. " Mr. Walpole's work reflects credit not only on his industry in compiling an important biography from authentic material, but also on his eloquence, power of interpreting political change, and general literary address. The biography will take rank in our literature, both as a faithful reflection of the statesman and his period, as also for its philosophic, logical, and dramatic completeness." — Morning Post. " In Mr. Perceval's biography his grandson has undoubtedly made a valuable addition to our Parliamentary history. The book is full of interest" — Daily News. COSITAS ESPANOLAS ; or, Every-day Life in Spain. By Mrs. Harvey, of Ickwell-Bury, Author of ♦' Turkish HaremB and Circassian Homes." Second Edition. 1 vol. 8vo. 15s. " A charming book ; fresh, lively, and amusing. It may confldently be recom- mended to all readers who want to know something about the inner life of Spain. Mrs. Harvey describes Gibraltar, Madrid, the Escurial, the Alhambra, Seville, and many other places ; and there is a freshness and sincerity about the account •which causes it to seem as new as if the topic had never been treated before. The descriptive faculty is very largely developed in our author, and some of the pass- ages relating to scenery are extremely fine, and lay the view before the eyes to perfection. What makes the book still more attractive is the keen sense of humour manifested throughout." — Post. LIFE OF MOSCHELES ; with Selections from HIS diaries and correspondence. By His Wife. 2 vols, large post 8vo, with Portrait. 243. •'This life of Moscheles will be a valuable book of reference for the musical his- torian, for the contents extend over a period of threescore years., commencing with 1794, and ending at 1870. "We need scarcely state that all the portions of Mosche- les' diary which refer to his intercourse with Beethoven, Hummel, Weber, Czemy, Spontini, Eossini, Auber, HaMvy, Schumann, Cherubini, Spohr, Mendelssohn, F. David, Chopin, J B. Cramer. Clementi, John Field, Habeneck, Hauptmann, Kalk- brenner, Kiesewetter, C. Klingemann, Lablache, Dragonetti, Sontag, Persian!, Malibran, Paganini, Eachel, Ronzi de Begnis, De Beriot, Ernst, Donzelli, Cinti- Damoreau, Chelard, Bochsa, Laporte, Charles Kemble, Paton (llrs. Wood), Schroder-Devrient, Mrs. Siddons, Sir H. Bishop, Sir G. Smart, Staudigl, Thalberg, Berlioz, Velluti, C. Young, Balfe, Braham, and many other artists of note in their time, will recall a flood of recollections. It was a delicate task for Madame Mos- cheles to select from the diaries in reference to Uving persons, but her extracts have been judiciously made. Moscheles writes fairly of what is called the ' Music of the Future ' and its disciples, and his judgments on Herr Wagner, Dr. Liszt, Ruben- stein, Dr. von Biilow, Litolff, &c., whether as composers or executants, are in a liberal spirit He recognizes cheerfully the talents of our native artists. Sir Stem- dale Bennett, Mr. Macfarren, Madame Arabella Goddard, Mr. John Bamett, Mr. HuUah, Mrs. Shaw, Mr. A. Sullivan, &c. The celebrities with whom Moscheles came in contact, include Sir Walter Scott, Sir Robert Peel, the late Duke of Cam- bridge, the Bunsens, Louis Philippe, Napoleon the Third, Himiboldt, Henry Heine, Thomas More, Count Nesselrode, the Duchess of Orleans, Prof. Wolf, &c. In- deed, the two volumes are full of amusing anecdotes." — Athenoeum. RECOLLECTIONS OF SOCIETY IN FRANCE AND ENGLAND. By Lady Clementina Davies. 2nd Edition. 2 v. " Two charming volumes, full of the most interesting and entertaining matter, and written in plain, elegant English. Lady Clementina Davies has seen much, heard much, and remembered well. Her unique and biilliant recollections have the interest of a romance, wherein no character is fictitious, no incident untrue." — Post. 13, Great Marlborough Street. MESSES. HUEST AND BLACKETT'S NEW WO'RKS— Continued. VOLS. I. & 11. OF HER MAJESTY'S TOWER. By W. HEPWORTH DIXON. DEDICATED BY EXPRESS PERMISSION TO THE QUEEN. Sixth Edition. 8vo. SOs. From the Times:— "All the civilized world— English, Continental, and Ame- rican—takes an interest in the Tower of London, The Tower is the stage upon which has been enacted some of the grandest dramas and saddest tragedies in our national annals. If, in imagination, we take our stand on those time-worn walls, and let century after century flit past us, we shall see in duo succession the majority of the most famous men and lovely women of England in the olden time. We shall see them jesting, jousting, love-making, plotting, and then anon, per- haps, commending their souls to God in the presence of a hideous masked figure, bearing an axe in his hands. It is such pictures as these that Mr. Dixon, with considerable skill as an historical limner, has set before us in these volumes. Mr. Dixon dashes off the scenes of Tower history with great spirit His descriptions are given with such terseness and vigour that we should spoil them by any attempt at condensation. As favourable examples of his narrative powers we may call at- tention to the story of the beautiful but unpopular Elinor, Queen of Henry III., and the description of Anne Bolesna's first and second arrivals at the Tower. Then wa have the story of the bold Bishop of Durham, who escapes by the aid of a cord hidden in a wine- jar; and the tale of Maud Fitzwalter, imprisoned and murdered by the caitiff John. Passing onwards, we meet Charles of Orleans, the poetic French Prince, captured at Agincourt, and detained for flve-and-twenty years a prisoner in the Tower. Next we encounter the baleful form of Eichard of Gloucester, and are filled with indignation at the blackest of the black Tower deeds. As we draw nearer to modem times, we have the sorrowful story of the Nine Days' Queen, poor little Lady Jane Grey. The chapter entitled "No Cross, no Crown " is one of the most affecting in the book. A mature man can scarcely read it with- out feeling the tears ready to trickle from his eyes. No part of the first volume yields in interest to the chapters which are devoted to the story of Sir Walter Ealeigh. The greater part of the second volume is occupied with the story of the Gunpowder Plot. The narrative is extremely interesting, and will repay perusal. Another catise celibre possessed of a perennial interest, is the murder of Sir Thomas Overbury by Lord and Lady Somerset. Mr. Dixon tells the tale skilfully. In con- clusion, we may congratulate the author on this work. Both volumes are decided- ly attractive, and throw much light on our national history." VOLS. III. & IV. OP HER MAJESTY'S TOWER. By W. HEPWORTH DIXON. DEDICATED BY EXPRESS PERMISSION TO THE QUEEN. Completing the Work. Third Edition. Demy 8vo. 30s. "These volumes are two galleries of richly painted portraits of the noblest men and most brilliant women, besides others, commemorated by English history. The grand old Eoyal Keep, palace and prison by turns, is revivified in these volumes, which close the narrative, extending from the era of Sir John Eliot, who saw Ealeigh die in Palace Yard, to that of Thistlewood, the last prisoner im- mured in the Tower. Few works are given to us, in these days, so abundant in originality and research as Mr. Dixon's." — Standard. FREE RUSSIA. By W. Hepworth Dixon. Third Edition. 2 vols. 8vo, -with Coloured Illustrations. 30s. "Mr. Dixon's book will be certain not only to interest but to please its readers and it deserves to do so. It contains a great deal that is worthy of attention, and is likely to produce a very useful effect" — Saturday Review. THE SWITZERS. By W. Hepworth Dixon. Third Edition. 1 vol. demy 8vo. 15s. "A lively, interesting, and altogether novel book on Switzerland. It is full of valuable information on social, political, and ecclesiastical questions, and, like all ijix. Dixon's books, is eminently readable." — Daily News. 13, Gheat Maelbobough Stkeet. MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT'S NEW WOUKS— Continued. WORDS OF HOPE AND CO^MFORT TO THOSE IN SORROW. Dedicated by Permission to The Queen. Third Edition, 1 vol. small 4to, os. bound. "These letters, the work of a pure and devout spirit, deserve to find many readers. They are greatly .superior to the average of what is called religious literature. ' ' — A thenxum, "The writer of the tenderly-conceived letters in this volume was Mrs. Julius Hare, a sister of Mr. Maurice. They are instinct with the devout submissivenesa and fine sympathy which we associate with the name of Maurice ; but in her there is added a winningness of tact, and sometimes, too, a directness of language, which we hardly find even in the brother. The letters were privately printed and circu- lated, and were found to be the source of much comfort, which they cannot fail to afford now to a wde circle. A sweetly-conceived memorial poem, bearing the well-known initials, 'K H. P.', gives a very faithful outline of the life." — British Quarterly Review. " This touching and most comforting work is dedicated to The Queen, who took a gracious interest in its first appearance, when printed for private circulation, and found comfort in its pages, and has now commanded its publication, that the world in general may profit by it. A more practical and heart-stirring appeal to the afflicted we have never examined." — Standard. " These letters are exceptionally graceful and touching, and may be read with profit. " — Gra vh ic. RAMBLES IN ISTRIA, DALMATIA, and MON- TENEGRO. By R. H. R. 1 vol. 8vo. 14s. "The author has the knack of hitting off those light sketches of picturesque life, which are none the less telling for being done by a passing observer. The really instructive part of his book relates to Montenegro, and it has especial inter- est at the present time." — Pall Mall Gazette. " The author describes his wanderings brightly and pleasantly, and his account will probably induce many to visit one of the most picturesque and interesting comers of Europe." — Standard. "A handsome and trustworthy volmne. The book is pleasantly written, and may prove useful to all taking the author's advice with reference to their next vacation trip." — Athenaeum. " What with his sprightly anecdotes, his clever sketches, and his instructive scraps of history and description, &. H. E. weaves together a pleasant and very entertaining book." — Examiner. "Montenegro and Dalmatia may certainly be commended to all who are weary of the beaten tracks, and E. H. E. is a well-informed and entertaining guide to their scenery, legends, and antiquities." — Graphic. " The most readable portion of this interesting work is that devoted to a descrip- tion of life in Montenegro, which the author sketches in a very bright and lively fashion." — Globe. A BOOK ABOUT THE TABLE. By J. 0. Jeatfreson. 2 vols. 8vo. SOs. "This book is readable and amusing from first to last. No one ought to be without it. No point of interest concerning the table or its appurtenances is left untouched. Eacy anecdotes coruscate on every page." — Morning Post. "Mr. Jeaffreson chats pleasantly about meats and manners. We cordially recommend to every class of readers his very amusing and instructive volumes. They are racy in style, rich in anecdote, and full of good sense." — Standard. " In Mr. Jeaffreson's ' Book about the Table,' the whole science and art of gas- tronomy are illustrated with everything bearing upon the subject Mr. Jeaffreson is always entertaining, and in these volumes he may claim to be also instructive." — Daily News. "This work ought to be in every library and on every drawing-room and club table, as one of the most delightful and readable books of the day. It is full of information, interest, and amusement." — Court Journal. 13, Great Mablborough Street. MESSRS, HUEST AND BLACKETT'S TUBLlCATIOm— Continued. NOTES OF TRAVEL IN SOUTH AFRICA. By C. J. Andersson, Author of " Lake Ngami," &c. Edited by L. Lloyd, Author of "Field Sports of the North." 1 volume demy 8vo. With Portrait of the Author. 15s. hound. " Andersson was one of our most successful explorers, a man beloved by all witli whom he came in contact. His book contains much to interest all classes of readers Sportsmen and naturalists will read with delight the many remarks on animals scattered throughout, and the work is not without interest to geographers. Its greatest charm, however, as we conceive, consists in the personal fortunes of its amiable and accomplished author." — Aihenieum. " This book is most interesting reading, and the notes on the zoology of Damara land are especially to be recommended to the naturalist." — Saturday Review. WILD LIFE IN FLORIDA ; With a Visit to Cuba. By Captain F. T. Townshend, F.R.G.S., 2nd Life Guards. 1 vol. 8vo, with Map and Illustrations. 15s. " A volume decidedly above the average of books of mingled travel and sport. He writes in an easy, pleasant fashion." — Athenceum. "Captain Townshend's work is instructive and entertaining. It contains chap- ters for all readers, racy narratives, abundance of incident, compendious history, important statistics, and many a page which will be perused with pleasure by the sportsman and naturalist," — Court Journal. SPAIN AND THE SPANIARDS. By Azamat Batuk. 2 vols, crown 8vo. 21s. " By the aid of this really entertaining book the Cosas de Espana of the moment may be brought before the mind's eye It would be too much to say that this is the most interesting book upon Spain and the Spaniards that has appeared of late years, but many may think so after reading it." — Athenseum. ON THE WING ; A Southern Flight. By the Hon. Mrs. Alfred Montgomery. 1 vol. Svo. 14s. " A most entertaining and instructive work, which holds the attention spell-bound. It contains the following chapters : — La Belle Provence, Monaco, Bologna, Florence, Eome, Naples, Italian Life, Pompeii, Sorrento, Capri, Amalfl,&c." — Court Journal. THROUGH RUSSIA: From St. Petersburg to ASTRAKHAN AND THE CRIMEA. By Mrs. Guthrie. 2 vols, crown Svo, with Illustrations. 21s. "Mrs. Guthrie is a lively, observant, well-informed, and agreeable travelling companion. Her book is interesting throughout." — Fall Mall Gazette. TURKISH HAREMS & CIRCASSIAN HOMES. By Mrs. Harvey, of Ickwell Bury. Svo. Second Edition. 15s. " Mrs. Harvey not only saw a great deal, but saw all that she did see to the best advantage. In noticing the intrinsic interest of Mrs. Harvey's book, we must not forget to say a word for her ability as a writer." — Times. MEMOIRS OF QUEEN HORTENSE, MOTHER OF NAPOLEON III. Cheaper Edition, in 1 vol. 6s. " A biography of the beautiful and unhappy Queen, more satisfactory than any we have yet met with." — Daily News. THE EXILES AT ST. GERMAINS. By the Author of " The Ladye Shakerley." 1 vol. 7s. 6d. bound. "•The Exiles at St. Germains' will be every whit as popular as ' The Ladye Shakerley.' ''—Standard. 13, Great SIarlborough Street. MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT'S PUBLICATIONS— Cbw^mw^d WORKS BY THE AUTHOR OF 'JOHN HALIFAX.' Each in One Volnme, elegantly printed, bound, and illnstrated, price 5s. JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN. A woman's thoughts ABOUT WO^IEN. A LIFE FOR A LIFE. NOTHING NEW. MISTRESS AND MAID. CHRISTIAN'S MISTAKE. A NOBLE LIFE. HANNAH. THE UNKIND WORD. A BRAVE LADY. STUDIES FROM LIFE. THE WOMAN S KINGDOM. WORKS BY THE AUTHOR OF 'SAM SLICK; Each in One Volnme, elegantly printed, bound, and illustrated, price 5s. NATURE AND HUMAN NATURE. WISE SAWS AND MODERN INSTANCES. THE OLD JUDGE ; OR, LIFE IN A COLONY. TRAITS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. THE AJIERICANS AT HOME. WORKS BY MRS. OLIPHANT. Each in One Volume, elegantly printed, bound, and illustrated, price 5s. ADAM GRAEME. THE LAIRD OF NORLAW. AGNES. THE LIFE OF THE REV. EDWARD IRVING. A ROSE IN JUNE. WORKS BY GEORGE MAC DONALD, LL.D. Each in One Volume, elegantly printed, bound, and illustrated, price 5s. DAVID ELGINBROD. ROBERT FALCONER. ALEC FORBES OP HOWGLEN. THE NEW AND POPULAR NOVELS. PUBLISHED BY HUKST & BLACKETT. THOMAS WINGFOLD, CURATE. By George Mac Donald, LL.D., Author of "Alec Forbes," " Robert Falconer," &c. 3 vols. "Its nobility of purpose, its keen insight into human nature, and its poetry, place this hook in the first rank of novels of the year." — John Bull. " The gradual development of Wingfold's and Helen's characters is an interest- ing study, and those who can appreciate insight into human nature in its higher and lower types, will find much worth noting in all the personages concerned." — Athenxum. ANNE WAEWICK. By Georgiana M. Craik. 2 vols. 21s. MAEK EYLMER'S REVENGE. By Mrs. J. K. Spender, Author of " Jocelyn's Mistake," &c. 3 vols. GLENCAIRN. By Iza Duffus Hardy, Author of " Not Easily Jealous," &c. 3 vols. POWER'S PARTNER. By May Byrne, Author of " Ingram Place," &c. 3 vols. " A powerfully written story. It never for an instant flags, either in incident or interest. " — Messenger. " The character of the heroine is well conceived and original." — Pall Mall Gazette. "A charming story. It contains deep knowledge of human nature, graphic delineations of individual character, vivid representations of the aspects of nature, and all the higher features of the creative art." — Court Journal. NORA^S LOVE TEST. By Mary Cecil Hay, Author of " Old Myddelton's Money," &c. Second Edition. 3 vols. " A very powerful story— bright, fresh, and sparkling, and written in an agree- able and fascinating style." — Examiner. " A very readable novel. Its tone throughout is high and good." — Standard. " A book of thrilling interest. There are the same vigour of imagination, the same creative fancy, the same power of expression, and the same touches of nature which characterised Miss Hay's former works." — Court Journal. "We can heartily recommend 'Nora's Love Test.' The story is original and telling; its dialogue is vigorous; its characters are animated, and its interest is sustained." — Sunday Times. MAJOR VANDERMERE. By the Author of " Ursula's Love Story," " Beautiful Edith," &c. 3 vols. " A well-written story." — Spectator. " A pleasant and graceful siovY.'''— Academy. " This novel is sure to be widely read and deserves il.'"— Morning Post. " The readers of this novel will have plenty of good love-making, pleasant talk, and agreeable ^eoj^le."— Standard. EFFIE maxwell. By Agnes Smith, Author of " Eastern Pilgrims." 3 vols. " A good and well-written novel." — Literary World. "A very interesting, sensible, and wholesome story. The characters are natural and well drawn."— /o/m Bull. " A most charming novel, characterised by a graceful style, a quiet humour, and a thorough knowledge of human nature. Its great charm lies in the life-like pictures it presents of Scottish character, customs, and modes of li£e.''— Court Journal. 10 THE NEW AND POPULAR NOVELS. PUBLISHED BY HURST & BLACKETT. PHGEBE, JUNIOR ; A Last Chronicle of Car- LiKGFORD. By 'Mrs. Oliphan't, Second Edition. 3 vols. " This novel shows great knowledge of human nature. The interest goes on growing to the end. Phoebe is excellently drawn." — Times. " This is a clever book, and will be read by all who can appreciate character. Phoebe herself is capital." — Athenxum. "A very delightful novel, fuller than usual of Mrs. Oliphant's special powers. It maintains its interest to the last." — Spectator. "In this agreeable story Mrs. Oliphant shows her well-known knowledge of human nature. Phoebe is an admirable character."— Pa?Z Mall Gazette. GRIFFITH'S DOUBLE. By Mrs. Cashel Hoey, Author of " A Golden Sorrovr," &c. 3 vols. "Mrs. Hoey's new story deserves the success which is earned by a well-thought- out and elaborate plot, a clear style, and incidental tokens of both humorous and pathetic insight." — Athenxum, "A remarkably clever and powerful novel" — World. "A good novel, with an ingeniously-contrived, plot, combined with excellent writing." — Morning Post. AZALEA. By Cecil Clayton. 3 vols. " The readers will be few and hard to please who fail to find amusement in ' Azalea.' The story is original, pleasant, and full of incident, and its tone is unusually pure and high. The characters are well drawn. Azalea, the heroine, is charming." — Daily ^i'ems. " ' Azalea ' is a story pleasant to read, in consequence of its thoroughly cultured and well-bred tone." — Academy. THE PENNANT FAiyHLY. By Anne Beale, Author of " Fay Arlington," &c. 3 vols. "A good and entertaining novel, dramatic and stirring." — Sunday Times. " TMs novel is more than ordinarily interesting — if not indeed positively fasci- nating, — and is of so high a character, and so pure in tone, that we can cordially recommend it" — Literary World. ERSILIA. By the Author of "My Little Lady." Second Edition. 3 yoIs. " A novel of more than common merit Ersilia is a character of much beauty, and her story holds the reader with an vmrelaxing interest A quite unusual ability in drawing character is the distinguishing excellence of this novel" — .Spectator. " In this pure and graceful tale we find equal power with its predecessor, some- what more of pathos, and also a great deal of admirably distinctive portraiture. Ersilia is a charming heroina"— Posf. "The tone of this book is very pure and high. Fathers and mothers owe a debt of gratitude to the author of books like ' My Little Lady ' and ' Ersilia,' which they can put into their daughters' hands without misgiving." — Standard. AS LONG AS SHE LIVED. By F. W. Robinson, Author of " Grandmother's Money," " No Church," &c. 3 vols. " The characters of ' As Long as She Lived ' are vigorously given, and there is a new development of humour in the book which we should scarcely have expected, from so practised a writer." — Athenseum. " A capital story, of very amusing and often highly humorous reading. Mabel and Brian are strongly marked and living characters." — Examiner. LINKED LIVES. By Lady Gertrude Douglas. 3 vols. " This story is full of interest from beginning to end. Its sketches in Glasgow and Brittany are very spirited." — Spectator. " This story is written with brightness and humour, as well as with tender pathos. It can scarcely fail of a favourable reception." — Post. " A deeply interesting, pure, and very able novel, true to human nature."— ZaS/e?. 11 Published annually, in One Vol., royal 8uo, wi7A the Arms beautifully engraved, handsomely bound, with gilt edges, price 31s. 6c?. LODGERS PEEEAGE AND BARONETAGE, CORRECTED BY THE NOBILITY. THE FOBTY-PirTH EDITION FOB 1 876 IS NOW READY. Lodge's Peerage and Baronetage is acknowledged to be the most complete, as well as the most elegant, work of the kind. As an esta- blished and authentic authority on all questions respecting the family histories, honours, and connections of the titled aristocracy, no work has ever stood so high. It is published under the especial patronage of Her Majesty, and is annually corrected throughout, from the personal com- munications of the Nobility. It is the only work of its class in which, the type being kept constantly standing, eyerj correction is made in its proper place to the date of publication, an advantage which gives it supremacy over all its competitors. Independently of its full and authentic informa- tion respecting the existing Peers and Baronets of the realm, the most sedulous attention is given in its pages to the collateral branches of the various noble families, and the names of many thousand individuals are introduced, which do not appear in other records of the titled classes. For its authority, correctness, and facility of arrangement, and the beauty of its typography and binding, the work is justly entitled to the place it occupies on the tables of Her Majesty and the Nobility. LIST OF THE PRINCIPAL CONTENTS. Historical View of the Peerage, Parliamentary Eoll of the House of Lords English, Scotch, and Irish Peers, in their orders of Precedence. Alphabetical List of Peers of Great Britain and the United Kingdom, holding supe- rior rank in the Scotch or Irish Peerage. Alphabetical list of Scotch and Irish Peers, holding superior titles in the Peerage of Great Britaui and the United Kingdom. A Collective list of Peers, in their order of Precedence. Table of Precedency among Men. Table of Precedency among Women. The Queen and the Eoyal Family. Peers of the Blood Koyal. The Peerage, alphabetically arranged. Families of such Extinct Peers as have left Widows or Issue. Alphabetical List of the Surnames of all the Peers. The Archbishops and Bishops of England, Ireland, and the Colonies. The Baronetage alphabetically arranged. Alphabetical List of Surnames assumed by members of Noble Families. Alphabetical List of the Second Titles of Peers, usually borne by their Eldest Sons. Alphabetical Index to the Daughters of Dukes, Marquises, and Earls, who, hav- ing married Commoners, retain the title of Lady before their own Christian and their Husband's Surnames. Alphabetical Index to the Daughters of Viscounts and Barons, who, having married Commoners, are styled Honour- able Mrs. ; and, in case of the husband being a Baronet or Blnight, Honourable Lady. Mottoes alphabetically arranged and trans- lated. "A work which corrects all errors of formerworks. It is a most useful publication. We are happy to bear testimony to the fact that scrupulous accuracy is a distinguish- ing feature of this book." — Times. ^ "Lodge's Peerage must supersede all other works of the kind, for two reasons: first, it is on a better plan ; and secondly, it is better executed. We can safely pronounce it to be the readiest, the most useful, and exactest of modern works on the subject."— ,Spectotor. "A work of great value. It is the most faithful record we possess of the aristo- cracy of the day."— Posi. " The best existing, and, we believe, the best possible Peerage. It is the standard authority on the s\xhiect."— Standard. 12 HUKST & BLACKETT'S STANDAKD LIBRARY OF CHEAP EDITIONS OF POPULAR MODERN WORKS, ILLUSTRATED BY SIR J. GILBERT, MILLAIS, HUNT, LEECH, FOSTER, POYNTER, TENNIEL, SANDYS, HUGHES, SAMBOURNE, &C. Each in a Single Volnme, elegantly printed, bonnd, and illustrated, price 5s. I.— SAM SLICK'S NATURE AND HUMAN NATURE. "The first volume of Messrs. Hurst and Blackett's Standard Library of Cheap Editions forms a very good beginning to what will doubtless be a very successful undertaking. 'Nature and Human Nature' is one of the best of Sam Slick's witty and humorous productions, and is well entitled to the large circulation which it cannot fail to obtain in its present convenient and cheap shape. The volume combines with the great recom- mendations of a clear, bold type, and good paper, the lesser but attractive merits of being well illustrated and elegantly bound." — Post. n.— JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN. " This is a very good and a very interesting work. It is designed to trace the career from boyhood to age of a perfect man — a Christian gentleman; and it abounds in inci- dent both well and highly wrought. Throughout it is conceived in a high spirit, and written with great ability. This cheap and handsome new edition is worthy to pass freely from hand to hand as a gift book in many households." — Examiner. ni.— THE CRESCENT AND THE CROSS. BY ELIOT WARBURTOX. " Independent of its value as an original narrative, and its u&eful and interesting information, this work is remarkable for the colouring power and play of fancy with which its descriptions are enlivened- Among its greatest and most lasting charms is its reverent and serious spirit" — Quarterly Review. IV.— NATHALIE. By JULIA KAVANAGH. " ' Nathalie' is Miss Kavanagh's best imaginative effort Its manner is gracious and attractive. Its matter is good. A sentiment, a tenderness, are commanded by her which are as individual as they are elegant" — Athenseum. v.— A WOMAN'S THOUGHTS ABOUT WOMEN. BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." " A book of sound counsel It is one of the most sensible works of its kind, weU- written, true-hearted, and altogether practical Whoever wishes, to give advice to a young lady may thank the author for means of doing so." — Examiner. VI.— ADAM GRAEME. By MRS. OLIPHANT. "A story awakening genuine emotions of interest and delight by its admirable pic- tures of Scottish life and scenery. The author sets before us the essential attributes of Christian virtue, with a deUcacy, power, and truth which can hardly be surpassei"-Pos<. Vn.— SAM SLICK'S WISE SAWS AND MODERN INSTANCES. "The reputation of this book will stand as long as that of Scott's or Bulwer's Novela Its remarkable originality and happy descriptions of American life still continue th& subject of universal admiration." — Messenger. Vin.— CARDINAL WISEMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS OP THE LAST FOUR POPES. " A picturesque book on Home and its ecclesiastical sovereigns, by an eloquent Roman Catholic. Cardinal Wiseman has treated a special subject with so much geniality, that his recollections will excite no ill-feeling in those who are most conscientiously opposed to every idea of human infallibility represented in Papal domination." — Athenseum. IX.— A LIFE FOR A LIFE. BY THE AUTHOR OF " JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." " In ' A Life for a Life ' the author is fortunate in a good subject, and has produced a work of strong QSecV—Athenxum. 13 HURST & BLACKEXrS STANDARD LIBRARY (continued.) X.— THE OLD COURT SUBURB. By LEIGH HUNT. " A delightful book, that will be welcome to all readers, and most welcome to those who have a love for the best kinds of reading." — Examiner. "A more agreeable and entertaining book has not been published since Boswell pro- duced his reminiscences of Johnson." — Observer. XI.— MARGARET AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. " "We recommend all who are in search of a fascinating novel to read this work for themselves. They will find it well worth their while. There are a freshness and ori- ginaUty about it quite charming." — Athmseum. XII.— THE OLD JUDGE. By SAM SLICK. " The publications included in this Library have all been of good quality ; many give information while they entertain, and of that class the book before us is a specimen. The manner in which the Cheap Editions forming the series is produced, deserves especial mention. The paper and print are unexceptionable ; there is a steel engraving in each volume, and the outsides of them will satisfy the purchaser who likes to see books in handsome unifomcL" — Examiner. XIII.— DARIEN. By ELIOT WARBURTON. "Thislast production of the author of 'The Crescent and the Cross 'has the same elements of a very wide popularity. It will please its thousands." — Globe. XIV.— FAMILY ROMANCE ; OR, DOMESTIC ANNALS OF THE ARISTOCRACY. BY SIR BERNARD BURKE, ULSTER KING OF ARMS. " It were impossible to praise too highly this most interesting book. It ought to be found on every drawing-room table." — Standard. XV.— THE LAIRD OF NORLAW. By MRS. OLIPHANT. " The ' Laird of Norlaw ' fully sustains the author's high reipvit&tion.''— Sunday Times. XVI.— THE ENGLISHWOMAN IN ITALY. " We can praise Mrs. Gretton's book as interesting, unexaggerated, and full of oppor- tune instruction." — Times. XVn.— NOTHING NEW. BY THE AUTHOR OF " JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." " 'Nothing New ' displays all those superior merits which have made 'John Halifax one of the most popular works of the day." — Post. XVni.— FREER'S LIFE OF JEANNE D'ALBRET. "Nothing can be more interesting than Miss Freer's story of the life of Jeanne D'Albret, and the narrative is as trustworthy as it is attractive." — Post. XIX.— THE VALLEY OF A HUNDRED FIRES. BY THE AUTHOR OF "MARGARET AND HER BRIDESMAIDS." "If asked to classify this work, we should give it a place between 'John Halifax 'and *The Caxtons.' " — Standard. , XX.— THE ROMANCE OF THE FORUM. BY PETER BURKE, SERGEANT AT LAW. " A work of singular interest, which can never fail to charm. The present cheap and •elegant edition includes the true story of the Colleen Bawn." — Illustrated News. XXI.— ADELE. By JULIA KAVANAGH. " ' Adele ' is the best work we have read by Miss Kavanagh ; it is a charming story full of delicate character-painting."— .4 iAen«MW. 14 HURST & BLACKETT'S STANDARD LIBRARY XXn.— STUDIES FROM LIFB. BY THE AUTHOR OF " JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." "These ' Studies from Life ' are remarkable for graphic power and observation. The book will not dimimsh the reputation of the accomplished author." — Saturday Review. XXni.— GRANDMOTHER'S MONEY. " We commend ' Grandmother's Money ' to readers in search of a good novel The characters are true to human nature, and the story is interesting." — Athemeum. XXIV.— A BOOK ABOUT DOCTORS. BY J. C. JEAFFRESON. " A delightful book." — Athenxum. " A book to be read and re-read ; fit for the study RB well as the drawing-room table and the circulating library." — Lancet. XXV.— NO CHURCH. "We advise all who have the opportunity to read this hook."— Athenssum. XXVI.— MISTRESS AND MAID. BY THE AUTHOR OF " JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." "A good wholesome book, gracefully written, and as pleasant to read as it is Instmc- tive." — Athenaeum. " A charming tale charmingly told." — Standard. XXVn.— LOST AND SAVED. By HON. MRS. NORTON. " ' Lost and Saved ' will be read with eager interest It is a vigorous novel" — Times. "A novel of rare excellence. It is Mrs. Norton's best prose work." — Examiner. XXVm.— LES MISERABLES. By VICTOR HUGO. AUTHORISED COPYRIGHT ENGLISH TRANSLATION. " The merits of ' Les Miserables ' do not merely consist in the conception of it as a whole ; it abounds with details of unequalled beauty. IL Victor Hugo has stamped upon every page the hall-mark of genius." — Quarterly Review. XXIX.— BARBARA'S HISTORY. BY AI^IELIA B. EDWARDS. " It is not often that we light upon a novel of so much merit and interest as ' Barbara's History.' It is a work conspicuous for taste and literary culture. It is a very graceful and charming book, with a well-managed story, clearly-cut characters, and sentiments expressed with an exquisite elocution. It is a book which the world will like." — Times. XXX.— LIFE OF THE REV. EDWARD IRVING. BY MRS. OLIPHANT. "A good book on a most interesting theme." — Tim^s. " A truly interesting and most affecting memoir, Irvrng's Life ought to have a niche in every gallery of religious biography. There are few lives that will be fuller of in- Btruction, interest, and consolation." — Saturday Review. XXXI.— ST. OLAVE'S. " This charming novel is the work of one who possesses a great talent for writing, as well as experience and knowledge of the world- ' — Athenceum, XXXn.— SAM SLICK'S AMERICAN HUMOUR. "Dip where you will into this lottery of fun, you are sure to draw out a prize."— -Post. XXXni.— CHRISTIAN'S MISTAKE. BY THE AUTHOR OF " JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." " A more charming story has rarely been written. Even if tried by the standard of the Archbishop of York, we should expect that even he would pronounce ' Christian's Mistake ' a novel without a fault" — Times. XXXIV.— ALEC FORBES OF HOWGLEN. BY GEORGE MAC DONALD, LL.D. *' No account of this story would give any idea of the profound interest that pervades the work from the first page to the l3i,st."'—Athen<jeum, 15 BURST & BLACKETT'S STANDARD LIBRARY XXXV.— AGNES. By MES. OLIPHANT. " • Agnes ' is a novel superior to any of Mrs. Oliphant's former works," — Athenoeum. " A story whose pathetic beauty will appeal irresistibly to aU readers."— Post XXXVI.— A NOBLE LITE. BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." " This is one of those pleasant tales in which the author of ' John Halifax ' speaks out of a generous heart the purest truths of life." — Examiner. XXXVII.— NEW AMERICA. By HEPWOB.TH DIXON. " A very interesting book. Mr. Dixon has written thoughtfully and weE" — Times. "We recommend every one who feels any interest in human nature to read Mr. Dixon's very interesting book." — Saturday Review. ' XXXVIII.— ROBERT FALCONER. BY GEORGE MAO DONALD, LL.D. " ' Robert. Falconer ' is a work brimful of life and humour and of the deepest human interest. It is a book to be returned to again and again for the deep and searching knowledge it evinces of human thoughts and feelings." — Athenoeum^ XXXIX.— THE WOMAN'S KINGDOM. BY THE AUTHOR OP "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." " ' The Woman's Kingdom ' sustains the author's reputation as a writer of the purest and noblest kind of domestic stories. — Athenaeum. XL.— ANNALS OF AN EVENTFUL LIFE. BY GEORGE WEBBE DASENT, D.O.L. "A racy, well-written, and original novel. The interest never flags. The whole work sparkles with wit and humour." — Quarterly Review. XLL— DAVID ELGINBROD. BY GEORGE MAG DONALD, LL.D. " The work of a man of genius. It will attract the highest class of readers."— 2^nies. XLH.- A BRAVE LADY. BY THE AUTHOR OF " JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." "A very good novel; a thoughtful, well-written book, showing a tender, sympathy with human nature, and permeated by a pure and noble spirit" — Examiner. ' XLIII.-HANNAH. BY THE AUTHOR OF " JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." ' ' A very pleas&,nt, healthy story, well and artistically told. The book is sure of a wide circle of readers. The character of Hannah is one of rare beauty." — Standard. XLIV.— SAM SLICK'S AMERICANS AT HOME. "This is one of the most amusing books that we ever read." — Standard. XLV.— THE UNKIND WORD. BY THE AUTHOR OF " JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." "The author of 'John Halifax 'has written many fascinating stories, but we can call to mind nothing from her pen that has a more enduring charm than the graceful sketches in this \fOvk."— United Service Magazine. XLVI.— A ROSE IN JUNE. By MRS. OLIPHANT. " ' A Eose in June ' is as pretty as its title. The story is one of the best and most touching which we owe to the industry and talent of Mrs. Oliphant, and may hold its own with even ' The Chronicles of Carlingford.' " — Tim^. XLVn.— MY LITTLE LADY. By E. F. POYNTER. " There is a great deal of fascination about this book. The author writes in a clear, unaffected style; she has a decided gift for depicting character, while the descriptions of scenery convey a distinct pictorial impression to the reader."— rmes. 16 f.<'